It is a bad thing to be awaked by a scream in the middle of the night. You are quietly minding your own business, sleeping soundly, dreaming sweet dreams of chocolate cake and Cal Ripken, Jr. (don't judge), when all of a sudden your husband rises screaming from the bed.
Why was El Hubbo screaming in the middle of the night? My question, exactly. As I tried in my muddled half-awake state to figure that out, while at the same time resisting the completely natural and primal reaction of eliminating the disturbance of my sleep from the face of the earth, I realized we were not alone in the bed. Jake had apparently joined us. And he was vomiting. In the middle of our bed.
I was suddenly, very fully awake. Awake enough to realize that I was entirely too close to the scene of the crime and that a vacancy of the premises was in order. All men for themselves. And if you are six years of age and of the male persuasion and vomiting in your mother's bed, you are by default a man and ergo are "for yourself".
El Hubbo, who is quite possibly the lightest sleeper known amongst the human species (I am convinced that he either (1) was once a member of an elite assassin team and has enemies hunting him or (2) owes a large sum of money to a Mafia kingpin. There simply is no other reasonable explanation for why anyone would awaken at sounds so minute that they are no louder than a flea passing gas.) That was a long sentence without an end, but important information I thought you needed. Anyway, he came back to the bedroom.
We flipped on the light, and it was not pretty. The contents of Jake's stomach were on display on my beautiful comforter and sheets. It appears the combination of frito pie, chocolate cream pie, and milk were not a good mix in the belly of the boy. He looked at us with sad eyes and a slightly green face, then he looked down, and then we realized that Aggies, the teddy bear and best friend since birth, was covered in this toxic mix. We assured Jake, who had tears brimming in his eyes, that we would figure out a way to save Aggies.
El Hubbo looks as me and says, "What do we do?" I tell him to get a wash cloth and let's, and by let's I meant him, clean off the chunks. He did and then we began to slowly remove the comforter. Followed by the quilt. Followed by the blanket. Followed by the top sheet. Followed by having the boy wonder strip his pjs. Jake's comment, "Aw, man, these were my new pajamas - now they are old!" To which I replied, "Well, they have certainly been initiated." The offender was lifted from the bed and sent to clean himself up. We continued with the layers of the the fitted sheet, then the mattress protector (thank goodness for the mattress protector).
Jake was checked out and found to have no fever, so I am guessing that this incident was related to a bad mix of food. Especially since he was able to march in and proudly model another new set of pjs, exclaim he was feeling much better, and suggest that we get a snack and play Wii. As El Hubbo and I were still trying not to vomit ourselves, we sent him back to his nice, clean, vomit-free bed to finish out the night.
So, it is almost 2:00 a.m., and we are doing laundry. El Hubbo and I scrounged up a couple blankets and are sleeping on the bare mattress. El Hubbo periodically says he can still smell it. I told him that his taking the lead on cleaning the chunks definitely gained him some points toward making up a lot of things that he always says he needs to make up to me. He replied, "It had better." We've researched the proper methods for washing stuffed animals with minimal damage and will be attempting an Aggies salvaging later today. Please pray that the mission to save Aggies goes well, or life in our house will be quite unbearable.
Why was El Hubbo screaming in the middle of the night? My question, exactly. As I tried in my muddled half-awake state to figure that out, while at the same time resisting the completely natural and primal reaction of eliminating the disturbance of my sleep from the face of the earth, I realized we were not alone in the bed. Jake had apparently joined us. And he was vomiting. In the middle of our bed.
I was suddenly, very fully awake. Awake enough to realize that I was entirely too close to the scene of the crime and that a vacancy of the premises was in order. All men for themselves. And if you are six years of age and of the male persuasion and vomiting in your mother's bed, you are by default a man and ergo are "for yourself".
El Hubbo, who is quite possibly the lightest sleeper known amongst the human species (I am convinced that he either (1) was once a member of an elite assassin team and has enemies hunting him or (2) owes a large sum of money to a Mafia kingpin. There simply is no other reasonable explanation for why anyone would awaken at sounds so minute that they are no louder than a flea passing gas.) That was a long sentence without an end, but important information I thought you needed. Anyway, he came back to the bedroom.
We flipped on the light, and it was not pretty. The contents of Jake's stomach were on display on my beautiful comforter and sheets. It appears the combination of frito pie, chocolate cream pie, and milk were not a good mix in the belly of the boy. He looked at us with sad eyes and a slightly green face, then he looked down, and then we realized that Aggies, the teddy bear and best friend since birth, was covered in this toxic mix. We assured Jake, who had tears brimming in his eyes, that we would figure out a way to save Aggies.
El Hubbo looks as me and says, "What do we do?" I tell him to get a wash cloth and let's, and by let's I meant him, clean off the chunks. He did and then we began to slowly remove the comforter. Followed by the quilt. Followed by the blanket. Followed by the top sheet. Followed by having the boy wonder strip his pjs. Jake's comment, "Aw, man, these were my new pajamas - now they are old!" To which I replied, "Well, they have certainly been initiated." The offender was lifted from the bed and sent to clean himself up. We continued with the layers of the the fitted sheet, then the mattress protector (thank goodness for the mattress protector).
Jake was checked out and found to have no fever, so I am guessing that this incident was related to a bad mix of food. Especially since he was able to march in and proudly model another new set of pjs, exclaim he was feeling much better, and suggest that we get a snack and play Wii. As El Hubbo and I were still trying not to vomit ourselves, we sent him back to his nice, clean, vomit-free bed to finish out the night.
So, it is almost 2:00 a.m., and we are doing laundry. El Hubbo and I scrounged up a couple blankets and are sleeping on the bare mattress. El Hubbo periodically says he can still smell it. I told him that his taking the lead on cleaning the chunks definitely gained him some points toward making up a lot of things that he always says he needs to make up to me. He replied, "It had better." We've researched the proper methods for washing stuffed animals with minimal damage and will be attempting an Aggies salvaging later today. Please pray that the mission to save Aggies goes well, or life in our house will be quite unbearable.
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