Y'all ain't gonna believe this shit

I don't know who to attribute that to, but it's the punchline to this joke: How do rednecks start a fairy tale? I've always wanted to use it but never had an opportunity. Until now. Because really - y'all ain't gonna believe this shit.

Disclaimer: This is a story about vomit. It is detailed. If it will make you queasy or light-headed, PLEASE NAVIGATE AWAY FROM THIS PAGE. NOW.

I do not handle vomit well at all. My children's father is some sort of vomit super hero...I have actually witnessed him cupping his hands below our daughter's chin when she has announced she is going to be sick. As if he is going to catch whatever might come up. The mere thought of that makes ME queasy. I would be one of those people who would have navigated away when I read the disclaimer.

As stated in my earlier post, my son stayed home from school today because of an upset tummy. That boy can will himself not to throw up. Honestly, he can. The first time that child threw up was right before Christmas last year. He was 8 years old before that ever happened to him and it affected him in a deep negative manner.

His first wave of nausea came around 7:30 this morning during his shower. He called for me and I went in to the bathroom where I found him kneeling in front of the toilet, heaving. Just the motion - no sound, no vomit. He didn't want to go to school because he was afraid he might be sick there, so he hung out on the couch all day. Occasionally he would go in to the bathroom and call for me and we would repeat the scenario from this morning. He took sips of ginger ale and had a bit of chicken soup for lunch.

Dinner rolled around. We had a yummy mozzarella chicken so I cooked plain noodles to put it over, also knowing he might want something to eat. He said he was hungry so he did indeed have just a small plate of plain noodles. About 2 hours later he wanted some more plain noodles so I got him a small bowl. Then he wanted a fruit ice. No problem...and I'm happy that he wants to try to eat something.

Off and on through the day I would ask him how he was feeling and he would say he wasn't feeling too bad but he wasn't feeling great either. He carried a bucket with him everywhere...every trip to the bathroom (just in case he needed it on the way)...it was next to him on the couch, he put it on a chair next to him when he played on the computer for a bit. You get the idea.

Bedtime rolled around. He pulled his trashcan to the edge of his bed and placed the bucket on it so it was RIGHT THERE NEXT TO HIM.

P-Man and I watched some tv then started to get ready for bed ourselves. He headed outside with the dogs, I fed the cats and looked in on the kids who were both sound asleep. I went in to my bathroom and was in the process of washing my face when I heard the first whimper. This was no less than 2 minutes after I verified that both kids were fast asleep. I stopped what I was doing for a moment and said "Captain?" No reply. Thinking the dogs must have made the sound when they came into the bedroom, I ignored it. Then I heard it again and it was the unmistakable sound of my child whimpering. I open the door to see...vomit. Lots of it. On my bedroom floor. It took me a few seconds to realize it was still coming. With no god damned bucket in sight. In my panic to get him to the toilet, the next wave leaves a trail through my bathroom, even in the heating vent. By the time he gets to the toilet, he's done. Fantastic. The kid can actually will himself not to throw up for 14 hours while he is awake. Apparently he has not mastered controlling his will while he is asleep.

I turn on the shower and get him in there since it was, literally, everywhere. As he was in the shower, P-Man and I started the clean up process. (Thank god for him. I can honestly say I do not expect him to help with this part of the step-parenting. I mean, really...cleaning up vomit?)

I think we've done a pretty good job. I don't smell it in the bedroom or the bathroom. My son is again camped out on the couch (with the bucket once again next to him.), and I tell P-Man that I am going to stay out here with him until he's ready for bed. So I bring a quilt out and start to settle in when I smell P-Man's cologne. I assume it means he is trying to cover up a bad smell so I go back into our bedroom to ask him and he says he smelled something when he walked out of the bathroom into the bedroom.

We look all over and don't see anything that might be causing the smell. We've obviously missed something, but neither of us see where.

Until I see this:



That is our Hairless Chinese Crested. Complete with jammies...'cause, well, he's hairless. Except for those few scraggly tufts on his head and ears...and the end of his tail. He looks a bit like a troll doll but that's a post from another time.

Anyway, I see Harry (original, no?) perched proudly on our bed. Except that his hair is...well...sort of wet-ish and slicked down on the side of his head.

"Why is Harry's head all wet?" I ask P-Man. I already know, without a doubt, why.

"What do you mean, his head is wet?" P-Man responds.

In my head: "Oh no, oh no, no no no, oh please NO."

I bend forward to take a sniff as does P-Man. Oh. My. God. The Captain threw up on the dog.

So here we are at 2:00 AM. Clean bedroom, clean bathroom, clean dog. The captain fell asleep quickly on the couch and since I don't want to just leave him out here in the living room, here I am as well.

The fun never ends. But I wouldn't trade it for the world.

I think dogs are the most amazing creatures; they give unconditional love. For me they are the role model for being alive. ~Gilda Radner (even when they've been thrown up on)