I'm back, happily unemployed again and the dry spell is over, so what better time to return to my blog than at the auspicious start of my 50th year, and let's face it, no one heralds in birthdays like my family.
At 1:30 A.M. I am sound asleep, and Sid shuffles in, uttering five little words parents everywhere dread "I barfed on my pillow". This is where the mothering instinct kicks in because my first thought was "OMG when I kissed her goodnight, was it on the lips ?". Rob however, a better parent than I, springs into action, whilst yours truly continues to lie there feigning sleep, because after all, this might be a false alarm, but it was not to be. Lights are flashed on, doors banged open, and Rob's loud exclamation of "F***ing Hell, was there anything you didn't puke on?" pretty much ensured I'd have to get up. Even I, with my Oscar worthy acting abilities could not pretend to sleep through that commotion.
While Rob who has a much stronger stomach, waded in, I busied myself gathering paper towels, disinfectant and a garbage bag. Lindsay by this time, had grabbed her pillow and taken off to parts unknown complaining that she couldn't sleep upstairs because "It stinks". It would appear that none of us are too sympathetic at that time of night.
So while Rob braves the bedding, trying to determine which of the 103 stuffed animals on Sid's bed were puked on and which survived the onslaught, I hover anxiously on the sidelines, giving words of encouragement, all the time fervently hoping that I will not be required to venture any closer. I was on board with Lindsay on this one, it really did stink!
There was no sign of a disturbance in the force when Sid went to bed last night, no indication that by morning we'd be faced with two heaping bowlfuls of undigested spaghetti & meatballs, and my apologies to anyone who maybe reading this over breakfast, but you should know by now you "takes yer chances" with my blog. With three children, at least one of whom gets sick once a year, why does this never happen in daylight hours ? Having to deal with vomit spewn with the force of a ballistic missile is bad enough any time of day but in the middle of the night? What's with that ? It's just not fair.
It would seem that I am doomed to spend my birthday in close proximity to the washing machine, while Sid trails dejectedly around the house with a bucket in tow. But hey without this, what would I blog about ? It's good to be back.
For anyone who read Rob's post on Facebook, I know what you were thinking as to how I celebrated my birthday at 1:30 AM. Shame on you.
