So Max told me that he was sick this afternoon. If you know Max, you know that he ALWAYS says he's sick if he's mad, in trouble, about to be punished, or being asked to do something he doesn't want to do. So like the good mother that I am, I ignored him. I told him that if he ate all of his dinner, he could go to the store with me. I'll bet you know where this is going.
So he actually sat down and ate his dinner (something he NEVER does without a production these days). I was grateful and didn't ask questions. When he was finished, we all loaded up in the car and headed the the 80% clearence sale at Mervyns.
Max was unusually cooperative and this began to peak my suspicions. Maybe he really wasn't feeling well. He had just gotten over a cold and could possible be having a minor relapse. Well my suspicions were confirmed in the checkout line when my sweet little boy began projectile vomitting all over the place. Fortunately he only hit the cart and the floor and none of the innocent bystanders.
Is it wrong of me to be glad that it happened in the store and not at home in his bed? All I had to do was buy him a new outfit, change his clothes, and apologize to the poor guy who gets paid minimum wage to clean the floors. I had no sheets to wash, no carpet to clean, and Max was so shocked he didn't even cry. I thought about being embarrassed, but I'll never see any of those people again and besides he's a kid and this sort of thing happens.
So I'm going to bed tonight a little worried about what this all means for the next several days and how bad it may get, but I'm also wondering, why does this only happen when we have spaghetti?
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1 comment:
i'd say no more spaghetti.
and throwing up in public rocks, unless it's somewhere where idiots work and they just stare at it as very, very slowly their tiny brain has a light that starts to flash saying, "i think you are like, supposed to do something, dude!" it's happened.
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