The Vomit Chronicles: Be Prepared

The Vomit Cup

The beginning of school brought snot, as expected, and snot brought vomit, as expected. Every Wednesday morning since school started, Ella has thrown up. Once, before we left the house. The second time, just as we were approaching the sidewalk to let her out of the car. I had to jet out of the car rider line and park. Everyone driving by, the teachers, and the traffic cop could see that there was vomit. I'm sure that's why the cop didn't say anything about my driving. He didn't want any part of our situation. That day, she checked in late. Last week, she choked and threw up right as we left Grandmother's house from dropping off Luke. This time, I had The Vomit Cup, so we just pulled over, wiped her face, tied up a sack full of vomit, and then we were on our way. That's how we roll, with sacks of vomit.

Friday, she threw up on the way up the stairs to car rider line at the end of the day. The poor kid. Someone had to help her change clothes. She got in Grandmother's car and threw up again. Then she threw up twice more that evening. I prepared the house for a stomach virus, because that many pukes in a row falls outside of our personal range of normal (which, admittedly, allows for a lot more vomit than most families). I cancelled our birthday party plans for the next day, bought a giant can of Lysol, and hunkered down. She slept all evening and all night, and woke up feeling decent. Luke didn't throw up at all. I let my guard down a little.

She had told us that her milk tasted bad at lunch and she could only drink a little bit of it. In fact she told me, "My milk just tasted fried." To which I responded, "Umm, that's not right. Milk should never taste fried." I'm thinking that fried milk may have been responsible for the Friday evening illness.

Clothes and wipes

We carried on through our Saturday business since she hadn't thrown up in 12 hours. I packed our Vomit Preparedness Kit in the truck with us. It wasn't in vain. All it took was a few swervy moves while merging onto the interstate to set her off. She puked in the cup while Lukey choked back his sympathy vomit as hard as he could. He managed to breathe through it and refrain, thank goodness, because I only had one cup. She gave me a cup full of vomit, I handed her a hand full of baby wipes to clean her face. That's how we roll, with cups of vomit.

That was all the vomit we saw on Saturday, but Sunday started with a bang an hour before the alarm when I woke up to The Vomit Cough (yes, there is a Vomit Cough). I ran into her room just as she was waking up, having already thrown up in her bed. That's how the reflux works with her. It happens while she's sleeping and so suddenly that she doesn't wake up until mid-puke. It's awful. I put her in the shower while Dave cleaned the floor, then I changed her sheets and put her back to bed. I put The Vomit Bowl back in the bed with her. She never went back to sleep, so I let her get up and play. We were cuddled on the couch and she went back to her room for her water when I heard her throw up again. She had no warning; she said she just tasted it in her mouth when she drank some water, so she threw up in the bowl and "thank goodness that bowl was just in there." Poor kid. That's how we roll, with bowls of vomit.

She'll be fully back on the reflux meds for a while after this weekend. That's how the reflux works. The snot makes it worse, a stomach virus makes it worse, food borne illness makes it worse, and then it takes a while to get in under control again. Pepcid, and Prevacid, and Tums, oh my.

Vomit Bowl

Ropers' Portable Vomit Preparedness Kit
1 wide mouthed cup lined with a plastic grocery sack, held in place with a rubber band
Baby wipes
Changes of clothes including socks and underwear
Flip flops
extra grocery sacks
Extra strength Febreze


At home, when there is illness or a reflux flare up, we use a large bowl to catch the vomit when they can't make it to the potty. They do run for the potty, but in cases like Sunday morning, there isn't even enough warning for that. (That bowl gets sanitized with Lysol spray and wipes, scrubbed with Dawn, then run through the dishwasher once we are finished with it.)

As I've rambled enough about vomit for this month, I'll leave you with a couple of thoughts: Never let the sun set on a pile of dirty, spare sheets (because that will be the night that you'll have to make the bed with throw blankets), and may you never drink fried milk.

The Vomit Chronicles: Sympathy Vomit

I was recently transported back to my childhood days at daycare where I witnessed the strange phenomenon of The Sympathy Vomit. One kid would throw up, and in rapid succession, two or three more would stop wherever they were playing to follow suit.

At the time, I never thought about it from the director’s perspective, but now, I like to think I understand what she was going through, except she had carpet and that always makes vomit worse. Yes, even worse than cleaning it out of car seat buckles, which is my favorite place to clean up vomit.

A few weeks ago, we made the trek downtown to the new Regions Park to watch a Barons game. It was Saturday evening. We had already attended a birthday party that morning and we took nice long naps in the afternoon. We had lunch at the party and snack on the way home and we were planning to eat supper at the ballpark. What we did not do was have a snack before we left for the game. It was a rookie mistake on my part. I know better.

Ella was acting puny for most of the drive, but I tried to convince myself that she was just tired. We’d had a busy day; she probably didn’t actually sleep at nap time, etc. Then she started coughing and I started calculating the number of hours since she last ate. They were too many. She coughed again, I asked if she was okay, and she said she was. I willed our car to transform into a helicopter and air lift us the remaining few miles to the ballpark. It didn’t. When she coughed the third time, she started crying and vomit ensued. I searched frantically for The Vomit Cup. It wasn’t there. I don’t know when it made its way out of the car, but it did. She had her car blanket wrapped around her, so I yanked it up to cover her lap and told her to finish throwing up into the blanket. Her shirt was done for, but I wanted to at least contain the mess.

It was then that I had a flashback to daycare, when, from the other side of the backseat, I heard a gag. Lacking The Vomit Cup and minus a second Vomit Blanket, I grabbed the only thing available to me. I stuck it in Luke’s hands and told him, “If you need to throw up, do it in this. I will wash it.” He said he didn’t need to. Dave made a noise of protest (disgust?) from the driver’s seat, but didn’t say anything. I’m assuming he was feeling grateful that he was driving that day. I turned my attention back to Ella and started handing her baby wipes to clean her face and hands. We’d made the executive decision to drive the rest of the way to the ballpark and change there, so I was trying to help her clean up the easiest parts as best I could from the front seat.

I heard a tiny noise and a little whine from the other side and glanced over my shoulder to see that Man Cub was indeed throwing up in a Pucci Pets White Pony Designer Purse.





Pucci Pets White Pony Designer Purse,
 for carrying ponies and catching vomit.



It was sympathy vomit at its finest.

Once we parked, I helped Ella change her clothes and finished wiping her down with baby wipes. Luke only needed his face, hands, and the chest clip of his seatbelt wiped. I wrapped all of the mess up in The Vomit Blanket, tossed it in the cargo hold, and sprayed the whole backseat and Ella’s seatbelt with Febreze.

Guess who else almost sympathy vomited with them? Me. I made it all the way to the gag before I tamped it down with a very rational argument: “What are you doing?! You can’t throw up right now! You have to clean up their vomit first.” Parenting is full of sacrifice.

The Vomit Chronicles: Sometimes It's the Dog's Fault

Monday morning found us tired and dragging this week. Ella woke up with the barking cough, the pollen having finally caught up with her, so Mucinex and cough syrup and a cup of hot chocolate were in order. I got her fixed up and she finished her morning jobs while she waited on me to get Luke ready to go.

I dressed Luke and did my usual last minute running around, making sure we had Gigi Blanket and cups for everyone, and that all the rats had been brushed out of their hairs. Since I had told them several times that were about load up the car, they were both standing ready at the door.

Then I heard the gag.

My spidey sense perked up and Luke started to cry. He gagged again as I swooped and scooped him to the kitchen floor like the super hero that I play on TV. Because they are well-trained vomiters, he leaned over and puked on the floor, just missing his shoes. Bless him; I didn't even have to change his clothes.

When he was finished, I wiped his face and hands and asked him, "What happened? Do you have junk in your throat?" (That's what we call sinus drainage, of which we've all had plenty.) He shook his head and said, in his saddest voice, "Noooo. Someone poooooooped!"

Well, that explained it. Since we were all ready to walk out the door to load the car, and not one of us had pooped, it had to be the dog, who was also waiting to go out for her last potty of the morning. I said, "Did Georgia poot?" He nodded emphatically, "Yes!"

I cleaned up the vomit and we finally got on our way. I was late to work, of course, but it was okay because I texted my boss to let him know:

"Running a little late. The dog farted on Luke so he threw up as we were walking out the door and traffic sucks. Happy Monday."

By the time I got to the office, The Vomiting Ropers and Their Stinking Dog were infamous.