Not for the faint of heart.

When I hear my kids cough in the middle of the night, it is a sound that makes my heart stop, blood curdle and toes curl at the same time. Is it a normal cough or is it that dreaded retching cough that is followed by emptying the contents of their stomach all over their bedding?

I'd rather them all be miserable and have colds for two weeks, than run them to the toilet and hope they make it. Yuck.

My kids go through various stages of vomiting dependant on age. There is the early toddler stage where they are somewhat fascinated with what just happened. At this age, they tend to ignore all attempts to control their food intake. It is business as usual, and as much as I try to convince them that eating just yet is a bad thing, they do it anyway. Magically and immediately, the food comes up again mostly just the way it went down. Not bad. I can handle this.

The late toddler stage into the early elementary years entails “I will not puke no matter what,” with them trying to swallow it as it is coming up. I hate this stage. Just let it come up already, kids! You’ll feel better. And they ask, “When will I stop puking?” every ten minutes all day long. They become afraid of eating and of drinking which makes them acquire a higher temp and feel worse. They fear even looking at the bucket, as they perceive it as ‘the thing’ that makes them vomit. When I hear them moaning, I run over with the bucket. They turn their head at the last minute and miss. “I wouldn’t have had to vomit if you hadn’t have brought the bucket over.” Yeah, right. Like I said, I hate this stage.

The late elementary years are much better, with the “Oh, I remember – use the bucket, get it out, sip some sugar water, I’ll feel much better tomorrow” phase. I just have to be there during the process, hold their heads, give them a Kleenex, gum, water, ginger ale, dump the bucket, rinse and spray with disinfectant. Lysol. Crisp Linen. I spray it liberally, because I don’t want to puke. It would ruin my record.

My Man falls into the last elementary stage although he uses the toilet (never the bucket), brushes his teeth and feels so much better that he wants a kiss afterward.

The high school years are best. Mr D does everything in his power (like his mom) to avoid the deed altogether, even if it means having it come out the other end later on and feeling just as miserable. I was remarkably scrawny during high school and my aunts were always wondering if I were anorexic. They had nothing to worry about. I refused to vomit, even if it would have helped. Will power and control. Vast amounts. Unlike some others I know.

Remember the smell of the disinfectant that the school janitors used? As soon as it hit your nostrils, you KNEW someone had hurled. Not that the smell was bad; it was probably once a pleasant smell. But we all feared what it represented: the terror of tossing your cookies in school, in front of your friends. Or that you would see the janitor sweep the pile up while on the way to lunch. Therefore, the smell turned into a terrible stench.

Don’t worry, everyone here is fine. No one is throwing up. I just had to unclog the toilet and sprayed the plunger with Lysol. Crisp Linen. Now they are yelling, “It smells like throw-up in here!”