Sunday, March 3, 2013

Pukeville, USA

Welcome to Pukeville. Please enter at your own risk. 

After a fun weekend of entertaining house guests, my daughter woke up with severe abdominal pain.  It was a school day, and I am an awesome mother so I told my daughter it was probably just gas. She burped on demand thereby confirming my diagnosis. She did make a valiant plea to stay home from school, but since when did gas keep anyone from going to school?

She lasted all of 20 minutes at school before vomiting in front of the school nurse.
(I'm not officially blaming the house guests for the puke germs, but let's just say I don't plan to expose my children to their cousins again any time soon).  

When a child pukes it is foreshadowing of the end of days. That child will recover, but not before passing the puke germs to her sibling.  The sibling will begin vomiting that same day at dusk.  The house fills with a cacophony of puke sounds.

Two pukey kids means only one thing.

The puke train is headed towards the hubby and nothing is worse than a sick man.

Give me boils, typhoid fever, explosive diarrhea, or scabies, but please...PLEASE don't let my husband get sick.

He's such a good, decent, smart, handsome man... when he is well.
But...he is the wimpiest sick person.  I've talked with other ladies, and apparently this wimpy, sick man trait is quite common among spouses. They just crumble.

You can tell our house has turned into Pukeville, USA by the appearance of "buckets" on towels by all the beds.  For better or for worse, we don't actually use real buckets. No, we aren't classy.  Our puke buckets are actually our popcorn containers.

Did you just puke up a little yourself?

Yeah, it's totally pukey to use the same container to puke in as the one you fill with popcorn on "Family Movie Night."

Too much information?  Want to join us for movie night?

The clock is ticking here in Pukeville.
One puke, two puke, hubby puke?

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