She's Really Good at Faking Sick. Or Something.

As I sat at my desk furiously typing data into the LMS, my phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID and let out a groan. There are many numbers I'd rather not see, and real high on that list is the one for daycare. They never call to tell me how well-behaved my kid is. Rather, it's always about a fever or puke or something equally delightful.

Puke it was. Delightful!

I begrudgingly drove over to daycare to pick up The Puker. Apparently she didn't have a fever, but she had earned a Get Out of Jail Free pass by projectile vomiting all over the preschool room. My inability to remember to send extra clothes to school stood proudly on display as The Puker was forced to don horribly mismatched gear and no shoes.

I think the bad outfit was to blame for what happened on the way home. If I had been dressed in pink heart-covered leggings and a ridiculously too small Hello Kitty sundress, I would have puked all over it, too.

It's too bad Alexis was in the car when she decided her outfit was vomit-worthy.

At any given point in time, there is enough food in my car to concoct dinner for four. If only I could find a recipe that calls for stale popcorn, crunchy fruit snacks, withered Lima beans, dried up blueberries, and dog hair, we would be all set for a gourmet feast. (It's my own fault. I'm the one who lets the kid eat in my car. However, Alexis gets at least 2% of the blame. If she didn't eat soooo freeeeaking slooooooowly, I wouldn't have to let her eat in the car once in a while.)

I don't think I have to tell you that puked up Strawberry Shredded Wheat doesn't really do much for the Crumb Casserole I had going on in my car. I quickly rolled down the windows so I wouldn't gag. Meanwhile, Alexis sat in the back complaining that she was dirty and needed napkins. I am an awesome parent when puke is involved, so I handed her a napkin and wished her luck. I just don't get why she doesn't enjoy sitting in a puddle of her own puke. I REALLY don't get why she thought I should stick my hands in that goop.

As we pulled into the driveway, it was pretty obvious that whatever had made the kid sick was splattered all over the car. She was feeling mighty fine, even as I sat gagging while trying to find a clean spot on her seat belt release. Once her clothes were changed, she ran off to torture a dog or two and left me to clean up the Puke Casserole that had been converted to Puke Stew. It took a hose, four towels, and every ounce of willpower I had to muddle through the disaster zone.

Awwww, this parenting thing is just *so* glamorous.