"Mommy, I'm gonna 'throwl-up'"

Okay--not sure exactly what brought it on, but on our 6 hour drive home from Phoenix last Sunday, Marlie got sick...and when I say "sick", I mean she tossed her cookies (or in this case, goldfish) all over herself and her carseat. I happened to be sitting in the backseat, squished in-between the two carseats with nowhere for my legs to go except on the center console. Comfy.
So we pulled over and I proceeded to start the clean-up as Chad is getting out of the car. He goes to Carter's side of the car, opens the door and looks at me. I am wiping up the vomit with McDonald napkins and have nowhere to put them, so I tried to hand them to him so that I could continue with the clean up effort, and seriously, you would have thought I was trying to hand him an atomic bomb. Here I am covered in it, and sadly enough, not even that grossed out...that's when it hit me. I'm completely immersed in my job, which is my life, which is my kids and Chad. Not such a bad thing, just a stark realization that when covered in a child's vomit, cleaning it up with the least absorbant material known to man, I'm not thinking about how I'm gonna be sick if I keep it up, but instead, what's going through my head is this: "don't throw up again....don't throw up again....don't throw up again....hmmmmmm...amazingly, goldfish don't smell that bad...that's odd. " How pathetic am I? I am the crazy one and Chad is competely normal. Some of you are probably wondering why I'm just now figuring this out...

So anyway--she was basically fine after the "episode" and after we got home after what seemed like 12 hours, she went to bed and we didn't hear a peep out of her until the next morning, when I am awakened at 6:47 am by the ever so dreaded words: "MOMMY!!!!! I'm gonna 'THROWL-UP!!!'" So I bolted out of bed and ran to her room, marched her to the bathroom where she proceeded to dry-heave. Okay--so I'm sure you're wondering where I'm going with the vomit story, and here it is...she didn't "throwl-up" again, but told me AT LEAST 63 times over the course of the next 4 days that she was going to. We had to perform what was quickly becoming the throwing up ritual by going to the bathroom hand in hand where she would bend over the toilet and let out maybe half of a mouse cough....then she was done and would go on about her busy little day until a few hours or in some cases, minutes later, she would tell me again. Who knows. She hasn't told me that in several hours, so I'm hoping she has forgotten about what was apparently a very traumatic incident for her and a gross, albeit insightful incident for me.