My little people were sick last week. It seems that this time of year, there are always snotty, runny, noses, or hacking, gross coughs. But this time, our little people did something they rarely do... they yarfed. I'm pretty sure that's not a real word (and the red squiggly line under it confirms that), but it's a lot prettier than the other names for it... throw up, ralph, puke, barf, hurl, vomit, upchuck, toss one's cookies. Anyway, it was pretty gross around here for a few days, and I blame the filthy little mudbloods we call children.
I dropped the girls off at the babysitter's house on Wednesday morning at 6:50 a.m. Nobody else was there, and Nancy told me the other 4 kids had all called in sick. Roh-oh. That should have been my warning, right there. But it wasn't. It was 6:50 in the morning, so I was like "blah nah blah meh arg urngh... love you, see you later." And off I went. Danny called me at 9:20 a.m. and said Nancy had just called him and Ella had apparently yarfed all over her. Danny's military, so of course he is extremely busy and overworked, but he managed to get the rest of the day off and went to pick up the girls.
I arrived home at 5:00 and the girls were... fine! Running around, playing, screaming, and being their usual delightful selves. Fantastic! We had supper, bath time, and put the girls to bed. Danny went off to juijitsu, and I settled in for a nice relaxing evening. Since eating at 5:00 is not an option for this baby-to-be (that's right, it's a pain in the ass already!), I settled down with my supper and turned on the TV. At 6:55, a mere 20 minutes after bedtime and 10 minutes after Danny had left the house, I heard Gracie crying. And then screaming. I ran downstairs and opened her door to ask her what was wrong... she sat up, turned toward me, and yarfed twice all over her bed (and herself). Apparently that was the second and third round of yarfing.
I have a tolerance for filthy little children that includes poop explosions, snotty noses, and every conceivable bodily function... except for that. The last time Gracie yarfed, I ran away while Danny got covered from head to toe. Unfortunately, Danny wasn't home. And although I considered making her stay there until he arrived to clean her up, that was a full hour and a half away. And I'm just not that mean.
"Okay," I said. "Let's go upstairs and get you cleaned up. But I'm not carrying you, do you think you can walk?" She could, except every step she took was dropping yarf on the floor. Finally I picked her up by the seat of the pants and the back of her shirt and carried her that way up the stairs. You people can judge all you want, but a yarfed-on kid is gross, and I was not about to start yarfing myself! I managed to get her clothes off and into the sink, and got her into the bath. She was laying down (apparently) the first time she yarfed, so it was all in her hair. I washed her hair five times. She still smelled. That was the best I could do. I asked her if she felt okay to stay in the tub while I went to clean up. By now, she was smiling and laughing and said she felt great! Great! I tied a scarf around my face and went and cleaned up the yarf. I'll spare you the details, but I did it. All by myself. I was proud. I texted Danny, and I'm pretty sure it said something like "You bastard! You left and Gracie yarfed all over herself and her room." Please feel free to place an f-word in there once... or twice.
I could hear Gracie singing away in the bathtub and she kept yelling down at me "Mommy, I feel good. My tummy doesn't hurt at all. I'm staying in to play, okay?" Fantastic. She played while I dumped a half-bottle of Febreeze over every crevice of her room. When I was done, she was still playing away so I got changed and sat down to finish my supper. No sooner had the fork touched my lips than she said, "Mommy... *groan* I'm ready to get out now, my tummy hurts!" I ran in, wrapped a towel around her and shoved her at the toilet... where she yarfed some more. I learned two things from the second yarfing experience. 1) Yarf splashes. Do not look over shoulders to ensure she is okay, or you will be splashed. 2) I need to keep my toilet cleaner. After she was done, she started singing again and asked to sleep in my room until daddy got home. That sounded good to me, so we went to my room where I got changed again, put her in new jammies and watched TV till daddy got home.
When he arrived, Gracie said she still felt great so we got her ready for bed again. I brushed her teeth, and said good night to her in the bathroom. She asked me for a kiss and puckered up, to which I replied "No freaking way, kiss me on the cheek." With her lips still puckered up, she leaned in, and yarfed all over the floor and onto my pants. Back to the toilet she went, while I scrubbed the bathroom floor and Danny laughed at the fact that if I were a better mother who accepted kisses from her kids, I would have had a mouthful of yarf. Take that, fancy parents!
We decided we didn't want a repeat of the bed incident, so Gracie and Danny settled onto the couch to watch some more TV and to make sure her stomach was settled before we put her back to bed. She crashed around 10:30, and slept through the night. Danny offered to stay home with her the next day, which I thought was a good idea, since we didn't want her yarfing on the kids at daycare. The next morning, I dropped Ella off at the sitters, and periodically checked in with Gracie and Danny. She was great, and they spent the day watching movies and snuggling on the couch. That night, after being exhausted for having to care for a sick kid all day (*sarcasm*) Danny needed a boys night out. I put the girls to bed and after making lunches and cleaning up, settled into bed. I fell dead asleep around 9:00, only to be awoken at 10:15 by the cries of a yarfing Gracie. "You've got to be freaking kidding me" I said.
This time, Gracie's aim was much better, and she yarfed straight into her lap, which was covered by a blanket, and onto the floor. I picked her up, threw the blanket in the wash, and took off her pajama top (splash-back). I had been awoken from a dead sleep, and, hey! I'm pregnant! so I used that as an excuse to bring her upstairs, brush her teeth, and let her crawl into bed with me. I texted Danny, told him what had happened and let him know there was a pile of yarf on the bedroom floor for him to look after when he got home. He thought I was joking. I assured him I was not and tried to go back to sleep. Except Gracie's tummy felt GREAT now! "Mommy, I threw up again. I'm sick. Except I don't feel sick. I feel good. Can I go to Nancy's tomorrow. Maybe I should stay home again. Is daddy staying home? Are you staying home? Is Ella staying home? Ella should go to Nancy's. Can I have a drink? I want a sucker. Can I get in the bath? I dont feel sick you know Mommy. I like cats. Where's the moon? Is it cold outside?" Oh for the love of God! Leave it to my children to get sick and somehow end up with more energy than they had before the yarfing! This child, I have discovered, really does not ever stop talking!
That was the end of the yarfing adventures. Here's hoping it's the last for this flu season. Although I'm not really convinced it was the flu. There were no fevers, no coughs, no tired achy muscles. Just a lot of yarfing. Gross, nasty, yarfing. Filthy little mudbloods.
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