So, I had quite the interesting anniversary. Thankfully Josh and I celebrated back in June before we moved, knowing that with him in a new job things might be too hectic to do something special on the actual day. Sure enough, that was exactly what happened. Just another day in paradise: Josh at work, me on kid/dog duty.
I woke up with an infected finger — I have no idea how that happened. It was red, swollen, and painful. I remember when I was younger my dad used to tell me to try soaking ouchy fingers and toes in hydrogen peroxide or rubbing alcohol so I poured a little peroxide in a cup, grabbed my computer and started reading on the couch while submerging my finger.
After about 15 minutes I got caught up writing a message and since I can’t stand typing with one finger I took a break and wedged the cup against the couch cushion next to me. I’d almost finished composing my message when I hear a little voice ask, “What’s this mommy?” and look up to see Camille holding an empty cup with a funny look on her face. Oh, good grief . . . does the girl not have any sense?
So then I was on a mission to Google a combination of the words “baby peroxide drink toxic” to see how freaked out and panicked I needed to get. It turns out that despite the solo headline of “toddler dies from ingesting peroxide” (further reading suggested he drank an entire bottle), the consensus was that it would most likely just cause some stomach upset. Whew!
I head to the kitchen to wash out the tainted cup when I hear shrieks of, “MOM! Camille threw up!” Did she ever. I have no idea how this much vomit could come out of a little person. Stomach upset indeed. Three huge, chunky, slimy pools of it, rapidly spreading across the tile floor. Just as I take in the horror, it gets worse. The dog, sensing the opportunity of a lifetime, races in and starts devouring the puke. Oh gosh. The kids start gagging and running the other way, I grab the dog by the collar and try to haul him away from the mess, he keeps trying to throw himself at the best stuff he’s ever tasted, I am yelling for a kid to take him outside and it’s just gross everywhere.
1/2 a roll of paper towels and some hot soapy water later, the living room floor is once again presentable. At least I don’t have to worry anymore about peroxide poisoning since there’s no way there’s a drop left in her system. I start to fix myself a cup of tea and go back to sending my message when I hear horrified yells coming from the other room. Again. “MOM! The dog threw up! Come quick!” This has got to be some kind of horrible joke, right? Nope. My 20 lb dog has thrown up a pile of partially digested food as big as his head. I don’t know how the scrawny little thing had room in his gut for as much food as came up out of him. Of course he chose the middle of the carpet to present his offering. And then he started to take it back.
I wouldn’t be lying if I said that I almost considered letting him eat it so I didn’t have to figure out how to get it from the carpet to the trash, but that would have been grosser than gross. Instead, I shooed him away and got out the dustpan and scooped it up (the whole huge pile of it), then scrubbed and saturated the carpet with Nature’s Miracle. Meanwhile the boys are dry heaving and gagging, but it was nice to hear Carter say with amazement and admiration, “How do you do that?!”
Cleaning up puke is one of my superpowers.