A little slow moving thanks to a restless night of sleep but finally up and at em. Start laundry. Make breakfast. Workout. Shower, dress, yell commands down the stairs to my kids, out the door.
Errand list reads as follows:
::Hobby Lobby (envelopes)
::TJ Maxx (Elf for a friend)
::Costco (something on every aisle)
::Winco (filling in the gaps left by Costco)
Come home, settle Austin into something that will keep him busy for awhile, complete Christmas card envelopes and get them ready to mail, figure out dinner, pick girls up from school in time to get to Spencer's basketball game, come home and begin The Nighttime Madness Routine.
All was going swimmingly until I was on the freeway heading to Errand #1 when Austin started to chuck oatmeal and sparkly toast in the backseat of my van.
And since he was in the very backseat and I was driving on the freeway, there wasn't much to do except yell support towards him and hope that his breakfast was miraculously making it's way into a bag I knew didn't exist.
Here's the thing about throw up in the Johnson Household: Brad handles all of it. Sometime after I DO! and before our first child came, I causally laid down this rule.
"How was your day? Good, mine too. I have a kid in my class who likes to punch me in the boob so I'm having a parent conference later this week. By the way, you get to handle all matters of vomit once we have kids. Care for more potatoes?"
And lovingly, Brad has risen to the challenge every single time. While normally hard to wake in the middle of the night, I have perfected a low-decibel moan that lets him know one of our four littles, or shamefully, even myself, is visiting the porcelain king and is in need of assistance.
So this! This throwing up on the freeway in my van thing was upsetting for a myriad of reasons, and not the least of which was knowing that I WAS GOING TO HAVE TO CLEAN IT UP. BY MYSELF.
(And less you think I'm a troll of epic proportions, my kids have a long-standing history of The Random Pukes which I was immediately convinced this was. Sienna mastered it but all four of them have been known to throw out a random chuck and then get back to business. There is no formal diagnosis.)
Once home, I made my way to the backseat to survey they damage and all I have to say is FARG: oatmeal and sparkly toast sure carry a lot of volume. It was everywhere and there in the midst of apples and cinnamon was my little boy, holding his arms out and quietly crying.
And then it didn't matter. I scooped him up, carried him into the bathroom, tore of his clothes and settled him into a warm bath full of bubbles. I patted his head, kissed his cheeks and scrubbed away the yucks.
And then I cleaned out the car. Sprayed this and wiped that and handled the whole nasty mess all on my own.
I'm claiming victory for the day.
To be safe, Austin is snuggled on the couch with a movie where he just called to me requesting carrots and hummus.
Random pukes for the win.