Today started out as such a nice, little Sunday. We woke up (REALLY early, daylight savings time just ended, and the kids don't care about that). We went to church. We raked some leaves. The boys took a nap. Then, Henry woke up and was moving very slowly.
We handed him a bucket.
Not long after that, he perked up and asked for some Goldfish. I obliged (but also asked, "Are you sure about that, little buddy?").
Shortly after the snacking, I decided to bathe all the kids before dinner. (They had all dove into some filthy leaves earlier in the day and looked like something that came out of an old chimney. So, it needed to happen.)
I probably should've been at the ready when Henry asked the question, "Hey, Mom. What happens if you throw up in the bath?"
Just after pulling Henry out of the tub, Henry ran around the corner (out of the bathroom, of course), and this happened in the hallway. On carpet.
|Note that he is puking ONTO the dog that is eating his vomit. Everett and I watch in horror.|
I kid you not, as the kid was between heaves, he turned his head to say to Willis and me, "Are you guys going to eat dinner without me!?"
Then, he cried when all we gave him was dry toast.
After this scene (and cleaning it up), I had to sit down for a few minutes to recuperate. I was touch and go for awhile. I'm still a little borderline reliving the scene, honestly. I had to document it, though. This is classic stuff.
So, by the way, this is why I don't have new carpet.