It’s not a party until somebody throws up

We’re headed to my brother’s lake house this weekend to celebrate my birthday (but don’t worry, there are still 3 shopping days left, and FedEx will just leave deliveries on the porch).  Since my Dad’s wife won’t be able to make it to the lake,  she wanted to have a little pre-birthday dinner last night.

We went to a local burger place, mostly because adults like it (i.e. it’s not McDonald’s), and they have grilled cheese for my still-won’t-eat-hamburgers kids.  J was obviously pretty hungry, since he polished off his grilled cheese about three seconds after we said “Amen” at the end of the dinner prayer.  As the meal progressed, since the rest of us were talking, I don’t think we noticed that he was surreptitiously stealing french fries at a greater rate than normal (we always hold back their french fries since they would devour them first, leaving no room for anything vaguely nutritious). A only ate half of her sandwich, since she’s pretty good at self-regulating her eating.

J, however, is not.

He proceeded to eat the rest of A’s sandwich.  And some more fries. And, oh yeah, part of Mommy’s milkshake.  By the time we were ready to go, he started complaining that his stomach hurt a little.  But he was always laughing and joking, without ever making any indication that he was really sick.

Flash forward 45 minutes.  We’re getting the kids ready for bed. Still, everything is proceeding as normal.  After their PJs were on and their teeth were brushed, out of the corner of my eye, I notice J slowly raise his hand to his mouth.

At this point, the action was similar to a TV show where the protagonists learn that a bomb is about to go off.

Time slowed down.

All sounds went quiet except the sound of a beating heart.

I swear I heard K say “Nooooooooooo” in that drawn out, tape-slowed-down fashion.

I pick J up under the armpits and deposited him in front of the toilet.

“Are you OK? Are you going to throw up?” I ask.

“No, Daddy, I’m fine.  I don’t have to throw up.” J replies.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Daddy.  Really, I’m …”

Before he could finish the thought,  he unloaded a grilled cheese sandwich, some fries and part of  a milkshake into the toilet, all at the velocity of water from a fire hose.

Almost immediately, he looked up and said “Wow, I feel much better now.  I’m really …”

And then he deposited another half of a grilled cheese sandwich, the rest of the fries and the rest of the milkshake into the toilet.

“Now I really feel better,” J said.

Purged of the offending overload, he acted as if nothing had happened.  Everything was fine when we checked on him before we went to bed.  By this morning, the only indication that anything had been amiss was when he said “Mommy, can I have breakfast?  I’m really, really hungry.”

I’m sure you are, little man.

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4 Comments on “It’s not a party until somebody throws up”

  1. momologuer Says:

    I’m incredibly thankful it didn’t happen on the carpet…we’d have to move.

  2. quotation marks Says:

    Now where was the camera when you really needed it. I think it was the car crashing in the arcade that probably pushed him over the edge.

    And as they say, a good time was had by all.

    Don’t cut yourself.

  3. vivienne hubbell Says:

    And there you have it !!!!!

  4. carpoolqueen Says:

    Nice catch, Dad. Your Spidey Sense is highly developed.


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