A quick little stomach virus has attacked our children, and it's reminded me once again how different the boys are. What follows is not for the faint of heart (or stomach).
Tucker got sick while we were on vacation. First, he threw up in the parking lot of the Alamodome. We poured a bottle of water over the evidence and went inside to see the Dallas Cowboys training camp.
My dear husband with all of his foresight made sure that we picked up a merchandise bag for the trip home. That turned out to be evidence of his brilliance.
Further evidence is that he sat in the front seat while I held a plastic bag full of barf all the way from San Antonio to new Braunfels. I'm not going to lie, he offered to switch, but I was already left "holding the bag" and it seemed silly to trade.
We got Tucker back to the rented house, cleaned him up, and put him in the bed next to a trash can with clear instructions about where he was to vomit.
Then he puked in the bed. Everywhere in the bed. So we cleaned him up, removed the sheets that didn't belong to us, and put him back in the bed with a reminder about the trash can.
Then he puked in the bed with no sheets. We repeated our clean up procedure, and this time scrubbed and disinfected the mattress that didn't belong to us. Then we repeated, much more clearly this time, that when you have to throw up, you should make sure your face is positioned over a receptacle to hold the vomit so that it can be easily cleaned up. We put him on a towel in the bed away from the previous vomit spots.
Then he puked on the carpet. Only this time, the blue Imodium we had given him came up, too. I believe Trey's exact words to Tucker at this point were "What the hell are you doing?" As a result of this outburst, Trey got a very stern look from me, but I have to be honest that I could see where he was coming from.
Finally...FINALLY...Tucker puked in the toilet. It was so momentous that Trey gave him a dollar. I think it was also to alleviate some of his guilt for the frustration he had shown earlier.
Fast forward about a week. We had put the boys to bed and started watching The Next Food Network Star when I heard Keaton coughing. After a third cough it occurred to me that he could be throwing up, so I ran to our bed where he was sleeping. He had emptied his stomach all over our comforter.
So Trey took him in the bathroom to comfort him and hose him off while I spray-n-washed the heck out of the bedspread. I got the sheets, Keaton's PJs, pillow cases, and comforter and started the washer.
We put Keaton on a towel on the couch and placed a trash can beside him. For the rest of the night my little angel puked his guts up in the trash can, and I was so proud. After each vomiting episode he would say, "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay."
And he IS okay, because he is the King of the Pukers!