I attempted to scrub my living room carpet yesterday while Grace was in school. We had our last parent/teacher visit of the year scheduled for this morning and what better excuse to make myself scrub the carpet? Right?
The scrubber wouldn't work. A belt was broken. So I begged and pleaded with Da Man to run to the vacuum shop and pick one up for me.
He came home with two belts and a piece of info from the sweeper guy: when one belt breaks the other one won't be too far behind. Da Man changed the belts for me. Yay.
I took Mak upstairs with me last night so I could scrub the living room carpet. She was fine with watching me until her pretzel rod was gone. Then there was no way the work was going to get done. So I feigned gratefulness for being able to scrub one small section and gave her a bath instead of even attempting the rest.
Mom watched Mak for me so I could get the carpet scrubbed. I was half-way through the living room and entertaining the thought of doing the hall. *Swoosh* The carpet scrubber made a sound and stopped sucking. And, in the process, spit the tank of water out onto the living room carpet. Did I mention it had stopped sucking? The living room carpet was soaked from in front of the couch to the other side of the ottoman.
I did what I could in terms of sopping it up and went downstairs to get the girls.
I knew it was too easy when they went right to bed and right to sleep. I knew it was too calm when I fell asleep on the couch at eleven thirty. I knew it was too nice to wake up right before Da Man walked in from work. I knew it was too odd that Mak didn't wake up to play with her daddy at some odd hour of the morning. But still I hoped.
Five o' clock in the morning came with this little tiny voice saying, "Mama? Mama? Mama, I had a nightmare." I put Grace in bed with us and wasn't having much luck with getting either of us back to sleep.
Just as I'm dozing off I hear, "Mama, I have a tummy ache."
"Do you have to poop," I ask.
"Uh uh."
"Do you have to fart?"
"Uh uh."
"I think you'll be okay, Grace. Go to sleep."
A couple of minutes later I hear, "Mama, my belly weally hurts."
"Do you want to try to go the bathroom?"
"Ye--blech." Puke everywhere. And did I mention that she was in our bed? Yeah.
She's steady wretching. Da Man is trying to dislodge himself from his breathing/ CPAP machine. And I, for some reason, thought it a wise idea to hold Grace under my right arm and catch her barf in my left hand. Finally she stops blowing chunks and tells me that she wants to stand. Fine. I kind of needed to find a way to turn the light on.
I tell her to go and sit on the couch while I clean the bedroom. And then I hear it again: "Blech." All over the freshly scrubbed and still damp living room carpet.
I don't know what brought her puking bout on. There is no fever. There is no change in behavior. I suppose it was because I fed her peas for supper and made one too many jokes aloud about my children's heads spinning and spewing split pea soup. Oh, yeah, or it could simply be because we had the last parent/teacher visit of the year scheduled for this morning and I had wanted a clean carpet.