Well. What a knockabout of pure fun that was!
Not five minutes after Puzey hit the snooze on the Barf Alarm, Moe dashed from her bedroom and into the bathroom to hurl. Anybody seen Wayne's World? "If you spew, then I'm gonna hurl, and if I hurl, they're gonna blow chow, and then...."
You get the point.
We got Moe back into bed (She's old enough to know when to get to the bathroom and doesn't require a hazmat team for clean up), and took Puzilla down to sleep on the floor of our bedroom in her sleeping bag. About two, she threw up again, but made it to the bathroom this time. Sometime around four, I heard someone in the bathroom barfing again, and asked Puzey if she was OK. From the floor I heard her squeak yes, and when I got up, I found Peff in the bathroom as sick as the rest of them. Moe took another turn at seven thirty, and while I was turning on the shower for her, the baby defiled my favorite t-shirt.
I feel like I'm the Exorcist.
Fifty years from now, when my Great Grand children are reading this, they're gonna get a chuckle out of it. Promise.
Needless to say, Beak was not interested in exposing Reaggers and Bub to my little Outbreak Monkeys. Uncle C took part of the day off to watch them, though I do feel bad about it. Everyone does seem to be feeling a Little better now. They are all grouped on the couch, snuggled in a blanket and clutching iced down Sprites. Even I'm not stupid enough to reload this bunch of Hurl-howitzers with any kind of breakfast.
Next time I'm sitting on the couch, enjoying a ball game with the Boss and the thought crosses my mind that I have nothing to worry about, I'm not sayin' a word. Not one word.
Which reminds me of a funny fable I know that I'll tell if I can get the kids to nap.
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