Mommy, I puked in the red bowl

Day 3.  

It starts like a bad scene out of stand by me - peanut butter taco and mandarin orange toddler puke.  This causes chain reaction puke.  E then proceeds to dissect what she sees spewed (pun intended) on the floor.  We run up to the bathroom and the girls go straight into the tub - we turn on the jets and black chunks come flying out . . . 

(side note: any tub with jets needs to be cleaned once a month with either specialized cleaner or with 2 tsps of dishwasher detergent and a sprinkle of bleach).  

So we switch bathtubs and put on jammies.  O goes to bed, E comes downstairs with me as she is "scared the puke will eat her."  We clean the bathtub and get out the carpet cleaner.  Black chunks of mold in the bag of water that my charming husband forgot to empty last time he cleaned with it.  We clean the vacuum cleaner.  Emma sees the black stuff and says "I told you the puke would get us"  

(this is very remnant of the time she pooped in the bathtub.  She tried to run away from it, creating a whirlpool effect on the pool which "chased" her, she started screaming, "the poo is chasing me."  .  She didn't take a bath for a week after)

We cleaned the carpeting and E went to bed.  That charming husband of mine called and said "how is your night."  Heres a hint, if your wife is home alone with two toddlers and she sounds like she may need an exorcism by how she says hello, if you don't want to be slain by her rhetoric, don't cheerily ask how her night is after you've described your "awesome" pick up soccer game in sunny AZ.  

Its 2:00 am now and I hear, "Mommy, I don't feel so . . .  " and barf.  There goes E.  I went in to get her to the toilet and she greets me with a pillow full of puke and says "don't worry Mommy, I puked on the pillow."  On cue O wakes up and projectile vomits over the side of her crib.  I'm pretty sure she smiled when she did it, and by the glint of the moonlight it looked an awful lot like pea soup.  We head downstairs with every blanket and towel we own an created two vomit proof snuggle nests each equipped with their very own toddler sized barf bucket.

This would be a good time to point out that through persuasion and claims that "dora is on vacation" E has started to watch Charlie and Lola religiously.  I will take a mildly obnoxious british accent any day over poorly phrased spanglish or an inexplicable bald, common sense challenged, mutant child .  Even if Calliou is just  a kid who's four, I want to punch him.  This change has caused 1) me to top googling: does anyone else hate Calliou / What exact language is dora speaking? and 2) E to occasionally speak in a British accent. 

So I sit, in the dark between two puke proof snuggle nests, alternately holding back their blonde and red hair while they puke like frat boys.   When I had finally reached my limit and was about to have a full blown mommy meltdown, E looks at me and in the sweetest British accent says, "mommy, I puked on the red bowl."  


Moments like that stick with you.  They remind me of why I do it day in and day out.  Even though they were both pukey, I kissed their little lipies and spent the night snuggling them by the dim light of charlie and lola.