Yesterday wifey gave me a call at 5:30 am while I was at work. This is never good because wifey doesn’t get up that early voluntarily. Turns out that our youngest daughter had come to her bed and said she didn’t feel good. Wifey told her to beat feet to the bathroom, but she didn’t quite make it. She power heaved all over our bedroom carpet. Yum.

I think I’m going to have to give a vomit training seminar to my children. There really is no need to give me a warning about the impending vomit. They need to be taught to head directly to the john, do not pass go, do not collect $200. Anywhere they deposit their yack in the bathroom is infinitely better than on the carpet. Nothing makes your day like picking up half-digested chunks of grub off the floor. In the bathroom, I can at least mop it all.

Fun, fun, fun.