It was Saturday. It was one of those days when you wake up and within 3 minutes have hit that “parental wall.” It’s not that the kids were doing anything horrifically obnoxious. It’s just that I was done. I was fried. I realized that I had not had any time away from my offspring – not counting work of course – in weeks. We put out a distress call to Oui Oui, to please take them. Just for a few hours. We’d drop them off. We’d pick them up. Whatever. Had. To. Be. Done.
It was still rather early, and Oui Oui needed a bit of time. Figuring we’d squeeze in an outing, we ended up at Chick-fil-A. We could all get breakfast and the kids could play.
We dumped the kids off and proceeded to enjoy the next 4 hours or so. I took a nap. I needed a nap, badly. I cleaned out a closet. I discovered that I am a gift bag hoarder; apparently I have not thrown one away in about 7 years. It was ridiculous.
Cruising Facebook shortly before picking my spawn up, I saw where Oui Oui had posted some fun outing pics. There was lots of outside time, drawing, and a McDonald’s picnic at the park. Good stuff.
Once everyone was back home, I bathed my dirty kids, got a bath myself, and started in on dinner. I was making tortilla pizzas for the kids with a side of grapes. Out of the blue, I heard Stella cough and gag. I looked up in time to see a huge amount of very chunky vomit eject from her mouth. She produced about 3 huge piles of the stuff – laden with undigested French fries. Nasty. And so much. It was one of those things where you wonder where the hell it all could be coming from (we ask that same question sometimes when she’s eating an extraordinary amount of food). It’s like her duodenum had become a portal to another dimension.
She shook it off fine, and demanded grapes. She ate a ton of grapes. I figured she had just had too much fast food – 2 meals in a row. While I’m not a total anti-junk parent, we do limit that stuff. An hour later she puked again. This time all over our bed. Everything was tainted down to the mattress pad.
There were about 3 more episodes until the inter-dimensional portal to her guts closed, ensuring that her bed was hosed several times. By the end of it, there was a pile of soiled linens and towels roughly equal in size to my Forerunner. Best of all, the washing machine started backing up, spilling water during the drain cycles. ‘Cause when else would a jacked-up washer be the most fun? During an apukealypse, that’s when.
Fortunately it was short-lived. Yesterday we were able to venture out for a fun little Easter outing at a local museum. Her energy was still a little lower than usual, but I guess yakking up a whole day’s worth of calories will do that to a girl. She went to bed early last night and slept about 11 hours. Since no one else has had any issues, I can only assume it’s not viral (knock furiously on wood), effectively ending the marvelous event. Only the laundry remains.