I found my thrill...

Strangely enough that is the first thing that came to my mind on New Years Eve morning - bright and early - crick of the crack as I say - while I surveyed the damage in the Elder Boy's room. After I took in the spoilage, I muttered (under my breath) F *Bomb* Ritchie Cunningham. Those versed in Happpy Days know that he would often bust out the first few lines of the famous, Blueberry Hill when doing well in matters of the heart. Confused?

Let me back up to the night before, dinner. Me and my Lovely Bride were preparing to go to a party. An actual, adult, hire one of them there baby sitters, night. We were excited. She (babysitter) was scheduled to arrive at 7:30 and we wanted the Boy(s) fed, bathed, and ready for night night. We figured the Younger Boy would be no problemo. He's ready to hit the hay by 8pm. Doesn't matter who's there. 8pm, time to go to bed. The Elder Boy was exicted that Bridgette was coming to babysit, as well as having our permission to stay up later than normal. Not sure if all that excitement and anticipation, led to the fact that he would eat nothing at dinner (thus thwarting the above plans somewhat) but blueberries. We're talking damn near a quart of blueberries.

Jump forward. I hear him moaning at about 4am. I went to bed at 1am. I'd had beer at the party and smoked a Hookah (it was a Middle Eastern themed going away party - and it was flavored tobacco - not only am I not cool like Fonzie, I'm not cool in the other way either.) My point - I felt like moaning myself, as I stumbled, blindly into his room. I came to the conclusion, that he had a nightmare. I decided to take him from his crib to the big bed in his room (where he naps and we read books before night night time) and bed down with him, offering up some Daddy comfort. Figured he'd go back to sleep, and I could ease him back into the crib and return to my bed. I noted a strange smell, but, after a quick poop check, I decided it was something else - possible me, my tongue felt like a cat had shit on it after the Hookah. Snuggling up, we were both out in minutes.

YAAAAAKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!

I awoke with a start, as Ethan is projectile puking on me. If you've seen the movie Stand By Me. That pie eating, pukefest. That kind of puking. I should also state, that at nearly three years of age, Ethan has never, ever, vomited. Sure, he spit up a few times as a baby, but never a true vomit. Thus, he was quite freaked out by the whole process, but at the time, falling off the bed, blueberry bile puke all over my t-shirt, I wasn't yet prepared to comfort. At about the same time that I hit the floor, it hit me, he must have puked in his crib earlier, and in my addled state, I didn't get that. Father of the Year - NOT. Standing up while he retched on the bed, I looked into the crib, and well, yes. Puke. Blueberry puke. Chunky. Blue. Yuk.

Considering it was now 6am, and that 2 out of 2 beds in his room had puke on them, not to mention the damage on the floor since I had fallen off the bed after having a good amount of vomit on my chest, I decided to strip the Boy and myself, and head to my bed. Murphy (anyone with kids can probably see where this is heading) and his F (BOMB) ing law, about 30 minutes later, he puked in our bed. Not as much as before, but still puke. We have 2 cribs, one day bed, and our bed in the house. As of 6:30am on December 31st, 3 of the 4 were befouled...and again, I found my thrill, blueberry puke, fouled.

The Elder Boy puked a few more times that morning, but pretty much after the last one in our bed, figured out the warning signs, and knew to hit the head. Carter, having prayed to the porcelain god on more than one occasion, offered up some helpful vomiting tips, and well he was fine. In fact, he was all but well by mid morning. Mommy and Daddy weren't as lucky. Needless to say we spent (actually it was more My Lovely Bride than me) New Years Eve Day and Eve washing load after load of laundry. My t-shirt was so bad, it had to be thrown away. Blueberry puke wins the stain war with Tide. In between loads, we ran around with a can of Lysol, trying to kill the germs so the Little Warrior wouldn't get it. All in all, we were wiped by the end of the day, and didn't even make it until midnight to ring in the New Year, or at least hear the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire as ourHispanic community goes ape shit and fires their guns into the air. Carter was out by 9pm. I was night night be 11pm.

Until I BLOG again..Merry New Year!