I suppose every parent has this experience at some point or another. I've heretofore only dealt with baby/child vomit at home and in the car. I write this because it is unbelievably humorous to look back on.
It was the day after our anniversary. Eli and I snagged a babysitter from church to come watch the kiddos while we went to see the new Avengers movie (we always seem to see comic-themed movies for our dates). When we got home, the sitter told us that she had fed the kids French fries, she hoped that was okay. In my mind, I was thinking...I wonder how long those fries have been in the freezer...a year? I mean, we hadn't exactly given any instructions for snacks in our haste to leave, and this sitter is familiar enough with our house to help herself to whatever. Fries were a logical choice, and one I might have chosen for myself since we were out of animal crackers and fruit snacks.
We had dinner plans with our dear friend, Jill, who was in town/state/region for a friend's wedding. Since I had found a gift card to Zaxby's while cleaning up my classroom, one long-forgotten from an intern of semester last, we opted to go for some chicken finger dining delight.
We get inside and Elsie has to go potty. I take her. She sits on the potty, does nothing, and then announces that she is done. We wipe, flush, wash hands, return to restaurant to order.
Just as we are sitting down to eat, Elsie announces that her body hurts. She needs to go potty. I take her in there, and after much time deciding which of the two stalls she wants to go into, she pees a little. We wipe, flush, wash hands, and return to the table. Eli is mostly done with his meal. Jill is half done. Oscar is not interested in eating, and just wants to sit in my lap.
Elsie announces that she needs to go potty. So I take her. She plays. I hurry her, because I just want to eat. She throws a tantrum. No, the other stall. Whatever. She does nothing...again. She wants to be the one to flush the toilet. She wants to use the blue sanitizer instead of the green soap. She wants to throw her paper towels away instead of me doing it.
FINE. I just want to eat, child.
I return. Eli is pretty much finished. Jill is almost done. Oscar is antsy, and wants to sit in my lap.
Elsie announces again that she needs to go potty. I'm clearly frustrated, and by now it's more than hunger. Eli offers to walk her down the hill to the Home Depot.
I'm just getting started on my Black & Bleu Zalad, and Oscar wants to sit in my lap, but I can't eat and hold him, and I'm about to scream. And Jill, darling Jill, offers to hold him. And he goes willingly, because he loves her. And she starts bouncing him on her knee.
Suddenly, he vomits. On Jill. On the booth. On the table. On the floor.
And it keeps coming. Again and again.
Thankfully on that Sunday evening, the restaurant was pretty empty, and the busboy was extremely patient, understanding, helpful, and did I mention patient? His first concern was if Oscar was okay, and then he ran to get a mop--(Shout out to Jordan at Zaxby's in Tiger Town! What a great example of compassion!)--while we took care of boxing up my dinner that I would eat the next day, and the kids' dinner that they did not touch (both meals vomit-free, rest assured). Wiped off seats and Oscar and Jill. Wiped off flip-flops, and then decided it was just time to go home, but we had to collect Eli and Elsie from down the hill.
While still in the restaurant, I called and left a cryptic message for Eli about the fun he missed out on at Zaxby's after he left with Elsie, and that we were headed his way.
By the time we got to the car, Eli called back (I presumed, since I had just called him) and he asked, "Hey, are there any wipes or paper towels or anything in the car?" Oh, no. Once I had seen that Oscar emptied out the french fries, I had vaguely wondered if Elsie would also lose hers down the hill at Home Depot, but the thought faded as I focused on getting out of Zaxby's.
"Did she throw up?" I asked.
He told me where they were and I drove down the hill; leaving Jill in the car with Oscar, I enter through the garden center, through the sliding doors, and there stands Elsie in front of three successive puddles of...chewed-up french fries.
"Mama! It's my vomit!"
Eli (who is coincidentally not the parent who deals well with vomit) stood off to the side, and we couldn't help but laugh. After we cleaned her up, she announced forcefully that she wanted to go back to eat. At this, Eli and I both laughed aloud. Guess she felt better now.
Elsie threw up two more times (keep reading), so we kept her home from K's house the next day.
But that is our story of double-toddler vomit (I could probably even use words like synchronized or simultaneous and still be accurate).
Fast forward a week. We're standing outside Tacky Jack's in Orange Beach, AL--we boated up to the restaurant for lunch, and we shortly headed back to shore for our long trip back home after the weekend. Elsie had been playing in the sand box, but it's time to go, so Eli picks her up to carry her back out to the boat, and as he turns around, there are a couple of older gentlemen standing there hoping to occupy the rocking chairs we have just vacated.
One of the old men to Elsie: "Are you three? I bet you're three."
Elsie: "I threw up on the floor at my house."
Me: "Yes, she's three."
Old man to Elsie: "I hope you're feeling better!"
Elsie: "And I threw up on mommy's bed. It was an accident."
Old man (who, with our luck, was probably about to eat): "Really?"
Me: "Well, time to go back to the boat."
Ah, memories. I'm sure he probably regrets making small talk with a 3-year-old. Haha.