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Perhaps the most dreaded words a mother can hear in the middle of the night are “Mommy, I’m sick”. Last night at 1:45 am, I woke to the sound of my eight year old, calling me with just those words. Out of bed, down the hall and into his room I went. Clayton had been having a “sleepover” on his floor with the puppy. The carpet, the bedding, the boy and the dog were all covered in vomit. This wasn’t going to be a quick clean up. Poor Clayton had a fever and was still half asleep. I couldn’t decide who to clean up first. You might think I would choose my son, but he was half asleep and still. The puppy, on the other hand, was wide awake, covered in throw up and ready to play. Envisioning the mess that might ensue if he started running around, I scooped him up and threw him in Clayton’s shower. I could contain him there and easily clean him up after I’d dealt with the rest of the mess. I washed up the groggy boy, changed him into clean pajamas and bunkered him in on the chaise lounge in my bedroom. After showering the dog, I was faced with the yuckiest part of the clean up. The smell from Clayton’s room made finishing the clean up a semi urgent matter. At this point it was 2:30 am. Armed with rubber gloves, paper towels and a variety of cleaning products I began to tackle the carpet. After considerable effort, it became clear that while the worst of it was done, a call to the carpet cleaners was going to be necessary. It was nearing 3 am. I wanted to get back to bed, badly. The pile of yucky clothes and blankets got tossed into the garage, to be dealt with in the morning, after I’d had some sleep. By the time I’d scrubbed my hands with anti bacterial soap and laid my weary head back on my pillow, it was almost 3 30 am. Clayton was snoozing peacefully on the chaise lounge. My husband was snoring peacefully, as he had been through the entire episode. And finally, mom was going to be sleeping peacefully, too. At least until the next time someone needs her.
