I was going to be a good girl and go to bed at 10 this evening, but then I decided to stay up and wash puke off of the boys' bedroom wall instead. Because that activity is more enjoyable than a good night's sleep.
Naturally, what with vomit-cleanup being such an adrenaline-pumping experience, I am still up. And not feeling too well myself, I might add. Larry went back to sleep, however, after moving the bunkbeds and lifting the mattresses and removing the puked-on guardrails for me while I wrung my hands and wailed things like, "Aaagh! It's dripping on me!" and "Why does he always have to be in the top bunk when he throws up?!" To that last, Larry said, "I dunno. We're lucky, I guess."
You know, Larry may seem like he's totally out of it, standing there in his underwear and looking groggy; but he always manages to come up with a good one-liner at times like these.
The embarrassing part is that when I heard Brian coughing strangely in his bed and I went in and didn't see any vomit (because it was dark and he had puked on the wall next to the bed and because I didn't really want to find any vomit, if you must know the truth), I had to debate whether there was a new puke smell in the room, or if that was just the old puke smell from October. I mean, how can you tell? Is that a question I could send in to Hints from Heloise, you think?
I'm just so glad Brian didn't want the tuna at dinner. I don't think I could have cleaned that up.
Hello? Anyone still here?
Before my evening was ruined, I went to Knit Night and let everyone touch the book that the Yarn Harlot had signed for me. Then I ate a delicious chicken caesar salad and half a brownie sundae, and I fervently hope that I will not be seeing those 2 items again tonight. Things are not looking good, though. Can anyone tell me: do you stop catching stomach viruses once the kids are grown and gone? Because this vomit scene is getting really old.