Yesterday morning I heard the garbage truck outside coming up our road, and I hadn’t yet put out the bags. So I grabbed the bag from the back and because I thought the truck was about to arrive, I brought the kitchen bin into the living room and opened the front door, so I could see the truck coming and give the bag straight to the man when he came to collect them.
Of course the bag stuck. Of course I pulled at it. Of course Fecklet was standing right beside me. Of course the bag broke and spewed potato peelings, chicken bones, tea bags, used nappies everywhere, all over the carpet and on Fecklet’s box of bricks. Fortunately it missed my son.
“DAVE!” I thundered up the stairs and my husband came down to fetch our son while I cleaned up the mess, a process which required a dustpan, another garbage bag, half a roll of paper towels and much antibacterial spray.
This morning I got to sleep in, mostly because I was up in the night for two hours with Fecklet who thought it was time to get up and play. I was quietly and happily dozing, when suddenly my husband thundered up the stairs, “JULIE!”
I ran down to find that Fecklet had been volumniously sick all over himself, my husband, the cleaned floor, and the couch. This time I got to keep the kid while my husband used the paper towels and spray, which is a good thing because the simple equation about vomit in my world is Julie sees puke=Julie pukes.
Clearly, tomorrow we’re doomed to nappy leakage or something equally unpleasant.
Thank you, Julie. You just reminded me of why I’m pleased my kids are grown. I’d been wondering a little, having just had a sad plea for text books for Christmas from my daughter because they’re so expensive.
(No, of course I’m not giving her £40 Physics books for Christmas. I’m giving her £40 Physics books and Christmas)
Well, physics books are not quite as much fun as a Thomas the Tank Engine set, Jan, but probably more important.
Though perhaps one leads to the other…
Oh no, poor Fecklet
I’m the same as you with vomit. That’s probably why I threw up so much when I was pregnant…every time I was sick it made me more sick!
Hope he’s better soon, and you have no more ickiness in your house. (Btw, did I tell you about the dead pigeon we had the other weekend…Rich was too grossed out and so I had to pick it up on a shovel and put it in a bag and dispose of it. It was ‘almost’ beheaded….ugh ugh ugh!!)
Poor you. Poor fecklet.
There is a lot of grunge work in being a mother.
I found the only answer when dealing with puke was to try not to breathe and to try not to think…
And yes, I am VERY glad that phase is long gone…
And again I am reminded why I don’t want children *shudder*
Poor you, poor Nate, poor Dave.
Yep, I’m with Biddy…although I had a lot of the same sort of fun with the Demon Puppy. Who, if she heard there was spilled garbage, would have eaten it. And therefore given me something else to clean up.
Ugh, Ruth. I think a dead pigeon is worse than child vomit. At least I know where the contents of my kid’s stomach have been. My father and I had to bury a dead loon this summer. That was sad, though, rather than gross.
Michelle…you THINK it’s over. But yours haven’t got to uni yet and discovered drinking…
Biddy and Kate, there are compensations. But still, lots and lots of grossness.
The Demon Puppy would have had a glorious feast at our house, I’m telling you.
Dogs eat vomit, don’t they? Ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh!!!!!