Mike and I were surely inducted into the Parenting Hall of Fame in the wee hours of this morning. You see, after a weekend full of painting Logan's room, we had finally gotten all the furniture back in place, blinds and valances back up and the finishing touches done. Anyone who knows my husband understands that this was not a weekend project, but instead hours of woodworking efforts, patching and sanding over the last several weeks, all aimed at perfection. And when it was done it was pretty darn close.
So at midnight, smack inside a very deep sleep, I thought I was dreaming that someone was saying my name. But then I heard it again and slowly climbed my way out of those comfy depths, and I as I neared consciousness, I knew that something unsavory awaited me.
Boy was I right.
Poor Logan, who ate Chicken Marsala off the adult menu at Carrabbas last night and loved it, obviously had overdone it. And awaking abruptly, herself, to the feeling of severe nausea in her loft bed, she was unable to get out in time. Her attempts to escape to the bathroom failed spectacularly and the ENTIRE room paid the price. I cannot explain the scene I walked into and I won't even try. I'll only say that the freshly painted walls, couch, blinds, carpet and all her bedding were not spared. And after two hours of cleaning efforts throughout the night, the carpet cleaners are coming tomorrow.
Mike said it best, "Of all the childhood bodily fluids we've had to deal with, this is by far the worst ever!"
And I agree. Hence much Internet research on where we can buy airplane vomit bags and our self-prescribed induction to the Parenting Hall of Fame. After this, there's no denying that we deserve it!