Disclaimer: This blog talks about barf. If you don’t want to read about barf… please stop now.
Today I yelled at my oldest son for barfing on the carpet. He began the day at 5 a.m., barfing on the bathroom floor. I had hoped it was an isolated barf, it was not.
When I was about his age my own dad yelled at me for barfing in the sink. I was brushing my teeth and getting ready for school when it just sort of happened. He wasn’t mean about it but he was obviously outraged by the location of my barf; I mean for crying out loud, the toilette was right there.
“What are you doing!” He screamed, “Dont puke in the sink!”
And it was all just so ridiculous that I started laughing. Which made me barf again.
This is the circle of life.
Today I had just mowed the lawn and I stepped back outside to take a work call while the boys were watching a movie on the couch. As I finished up the call, my youngest son had wandered out to the porch to tattle on his brother.
“Um… Dad?” He said.
“What?” I said
And a stupendous display of barf it was. My kid is the Michael Phelps of barfing. It was as if he plotted his barf course beforehand so as to achieve maximim barf destruction.
And oh, by the way… We just had the carpets cleaned on Friday.
So I yelled at him. I don’t think I was mean about it but sometimes, like when you confront a living room covered in barf, you react emotionally.
I sent him to the bathroom to sit while I went on barf duty. As I was spraying down the mess with resolve, I realized that I was insensitive before. So I went into the bathroom where he was sitting patiently and looking just a touch green.
I apologized to him for my reaction and asked how he was feeling. He was feeling better. Of course, who wouldn’t after barfing that much?
So I had him take a shower and I set him back up on the couch with some saltines and 7up.
Here’s the thing about kids barfing. Yes it’s gross but it’s also the perfect opportunity to be a hero parent. In that moment, all a kid wants is to feel better and well, that’s kind of our most important job as parents. Today I missed the first shot but my aim was true on the second attempt.
If my son is the Michael Phelps of barfing, well than I’ll be the Michael Jordon of barf duty.