Jensen had been complaining of ear pain and nausea. The ear pain went away, but the nausea continued. It’s hard to know when to take him seriously, because of all 3 children, he is the most prone to DRAMA FOR THE SAKE OF DRAMA.
And if you knew the other two children, you’d be all WHOA WOMAN, and then you’d offer me an afternoon cocktail.
Anyhoo. One fateful evening, Jensen alerted his father that he needed to throw up. He goes to his father because everyone knows that mommy + vomit = mommy driving quickly away in the van. Alone.
Fiddledaddy had Jensen sitting on the side of the bathtub poised over the toilet. A fateful mistake. As I quickly passed the bathroom, I thought to myself, “he needs to have the kid’s head down in the toilet.” Of course I said nothing because I know better than to give unsolicited advice when it comes to matters of vomit.
And then I heard it. Followed by “JENSEN!….AIM.” Another round, and then another, “DUDE!…AIM.” There was fear in Fiddledaddy’s voice. As the girls procured Viva extra strength paper towels, vinyl gloves, and a large garbage bag, I busied myself in the garage concocting a strong solution of bleach and water with a few drops of Orange Essential Oil for those of us with heightened olfactory senses.
As I dared to enter the house with mop and bucket in hand, a pale Fiddledaddy caught me up to speed.
Evidently, as the boy was sitting on the edge of the tub, he reared his head BACK (in true dinosaur form) and let loose with a week’s worth of groceries, all while roaring and shaking his head back and forth. And then he repeated the performance.
Very little actually made it into the toilet.
We are going to have to re-paint. Or maybe move.
Even though this was an isolated episode, he still continued to complain of nausea. I suspected an inner ear infection. A trip to Urgent Care confirmed my suspicions. His complaints have lessened after a round of antibiotics.
On Friday we were treated to a fantastic Revolutionary War guest speaker at a small co-op we attend on Fridays. About mid-way through, Jensen came up to me in a small voice, “Mom, do you think it would be okay if I throw up in Mrs. Brandon’s house?” This after a snack of Patriotic Parfait (red jell-o, white cool whip, and blueberries).
I thought it best if we made a hasty retreat. Good co-ops and wonderful friends are hard to come by.
I’m happy to report that no vomit entered the fray.
NOW you’re in the mood to cook for Thanksgiving.