Expect more...

I hate tummy aches. It's such a vague symptom. I don't really know what to do with it.

Yesterday, or perhaps the day before, I got a call from Genevieve's school. "Genevieve is here in the office with a tummy ache." Fine. I went and got her and brought her home where she perked up immediately, ate lunch, and watched movies. I couldn't help feeling like I'd been had.

So today, Imogen does the same thing. The office calls and says Imogen has a stomach ache, please come get her. Today, I was even more irritated because I had planned to attend Genevieve's class Christmas party and would now be unable. I took Imogen home with the idea that this was more of the same. I needed to go to Target so I asked her if she felt up to it.

"Are you sure?" I asked three times. "Yes," she said three times. She should have said no. I was in the toy aisle when I turned around and found her sitting on the floor, a vacant look in her eyes. I put her in the cart. I only needed one or two more things so I went to grab them quickly.

"I think I'm going to throw up," she said. Oh no, I thought. I rushed for the bathroom. Five steps later, she vomited all over. All over herself, all over the cart, all over the things I was planning to buy, all over my purse. I gaped at her, not even sure what to do in this situation. I mean, on one hand, it seems rude to not buy these things. On the other hand, am I supposed to tell the check out person to not mind the sticky orange colored vomit as she rings it all up? One of these toys is for a friend of the girls'. Do I wash it up and hope it doesn't smell wonky when she opens it? Speaking of smell, it's ironic that Jeremy's new deodorant was now dripping in puke. Yes, these were the thoughts running through my horrified mind as I stood there listening to the contents of my child's stomach drip onto the floor.

A Target employee walked by.

"Excuse me?" I said. "We had a... accident?" She ran to get the appropriate people, who were wonderfully understanding. They cleaned up the floor and the cart and bagged up newly worthless merchandise, directed us to an employee restroom where we could clean up and very tactfully suggested that Imogen go home.

"Just so you know," I said to Imogen on the way out, "When I said, 'Do you feel well enough to go to Target?' the correct answer was 'No.'"