Sunday, June 10, 2012

The contest

I'm not sure, but I think my kids may be having a contest to see who can throw up the most.

My dear children have managed to puke in every conceivable locale this week:

The bed... a classic.
The stairs... the tricky clean up.
The tub... multitasking at it's best.
The car... awesome. I love figuring out how to get those car seat covers on and off of your seats. Thanks for giving me that opportunity for personal growth.


I think the worst part of this whole "contest" has been that they don't appear to truly be sick.

They cry (the tell-tale barf cry).
They barf.
They skip away to dump out boxes of toothpicks in my pantry.

Don't get me wrong... I don't want my kids to be sick. But, if they are going to throw up all over my house, then I feel I am entitled to have the requisite pitiful kid who doesn't move except to drink Gatorade and sleeps most of the day on my couch.

Well, now that I have secured my nomination for the most compassionate mom of the year, I guess I'll sign off.

But in my defense, I think the fumes from the disinfecting wipes must be getting to me.


1 comment:

  1. Oy, girlfriend, that's laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame! You are definitely entitled to a wimpy kid on the couch. Then at least you know where to run when you hear the tell-tale barf warning cry.

    You can be comforted in knowing I feel badly for you.