When it Rains, it Pours

And I'm not talking about Morton's salt.

I DEB-sat last night so my father-in-law could enjoy a little down time. I have to confess here that my heart really wasn't into it at all. In fact, I was downright resistant to the idea, but I wouldn't dare to say so. I just flat-out didn't feel like it, and I feel horribly guilty for that. The Oracle had to work yesterday and was gone from noon until 9:00 p.m., so I couldn't even rely on his presence to give DEB a little stimulation or whatever.

Without the gory details, let's just say she was really tough yesterday between the bathroom runs and the magic mushrooms. Precious Daughter was nitpicky and whiny about the incorrect facts, and overall it was just a frustrating evening. My father-in-law (I need to find a nickname for him!) arrived to pick DEB up not five minutes before The Oracle returned home.

*Sigh...* When everyone is gone and/or sleeping, I settle in to work on a transcript that I needed to finish. Almost immediately I start drooping and drooling on the keyboard, so I set the alarm on my phone for a half-hour snooze, tuck it into my bra so the vibration actually wakes me up, and I doze on the couch.

Not three minutes before my alarm goes off I hear a funky noise coming from Mighty B's room, and I am yanked into wakefulness by the telltale hollow-souning "Mahhhh-myyyyy" that immediately follows.

His sheets, pillows, and comforter are covered in the technicolor remnants of dinner (cherry Jell-O for dessert!!) and that awful acidic aroma hangs in the air. Ohhhh, crap. My poor kid.

I should've seen this coming. Precious Daugter had the same problem on Thursday night, but I attributed it to the horribly indigestible hot dogs the school serves for lunch. You know the ones I'm talking about. The kind that leave you burping hot-dog spices until the next morning.

Lucky me, it's a tummy bug instead.

And, by the way, thanks to these vomitous episodes Thursday and last night, I have discovered that my children aparrently do not chew their food. Good Lord, I don't know how they can swallow such large objects without obstructing an airway. Bad enough that I have to clean it up, but when I can easily identify what's there I'm ready to worship the porcelain god myself.

Uglier still: carrots and red Jell-O do not look pretty together.

So instead of working on my transcripts, Mighty B and I spent the evening on the sofa as he dozed and retched and dozed and retched between my trips up and down the stairs with some heavy-duty laundry.

I hate washing comforters. Thank God I put the mattress cover over the featherbed or that would've driven me to tears.