I awoke in the middle of the night to a boy and his words: "I threw up". In all of my nurturingness I said...."Brad, get up! Luke just threw up!" I could smell it on him, and I wasn't moving. I waited a second until they got downstairs and then, fixed a cup of water for Luke, and got the temperature gauge. The basement reeked from the top of the stairs. "Oh no, it was a gusher." I held a towel over my mouth as I went to assess the damage. Brad came out of Luke's room, pale as a ghost, as if he'd just seen one. "I don't know what else to do", he said, looking helpless like a little boy. His eyes were puffy and red, as if he'd been gagging. He'd taken off his sheets and had started washing. The whole scene was like a horror film. I got the carpet cleaner and the Lysol spray, and did my best to keep from gagging myself. Brad said it was everywhere. There was no way I could look or even imagine it, or the "barf-a-rama" scene from STAND BY ME would have become a reality in our basement. I went through a list of why's and what'd he eat's and when was the last time he threw up? I can't remember. He's much bigger than the last time he did, so naturally he can eat more, hold more and thus....the catastrophe. So Brad, in all of his sweetness, slept with Luke the rest of the night, and let me go back to bed.
Happy New Year!
