So, here I lay, on my couch… it is 1:58am and I enjoy the company of my dear Sally.  As well Tyrone, Uniqua, Austin and the other swell, wholesome little beasties that are the Backyardigans.  A gentle distraction from a 10-year-old’s crampi-hurliness… he’d love to be watching something else, but unfortunately basic cable is just not that child friendly at this hour of the morning….

Welcome to BarfBag Central… the home of puke anyway you like it.  On the couch.  On the coffee table.  Splattered across the floor… so very, very close to the bathroom.  And the cool of the so very welcoming receptacle that is the toilet.

This is the second afflicted.  Zippity Zip’s insides chose Sunday night at Gramps’ to let go their various contents… Boston Pizza, shrimp salad rolls and hot, buttery popcorn, over and over again.  Despite his love for launching himself into complete spazzdom when not allowed on the computer, he launches his chunks with very little drama.  A real trooper as he merely rolls over sleepily, repeatedly, with direct aim into the plastic lined wicker bin.  And then four hours of bile and dry heaves into a plastic bag on his lap, with nary a whimper, on the looooonnnnnngggg drive home from the city.

The ever sensitive Fidgey from her place in the back, holding her nose in over-acted disgust, “Ewwww… whaaaa-aaaaaat smellllllllllllllllsssssss, mummy?!”

Yeh.  Uh- huh.  And there go my hopes that it was just an anomoly with the middle child, as child #1 spews his Ichiban, grilled cheese and hot buttery popcorn from earlier.  And with not nearly the cool aplomb.

“Ohhhhhhhhh-uuuuuunnnnnggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!! Mummy!….. Muuuuuummmmmm-mmmmmmyyyyyy!  My tummmm-mmmmy huuuuurrrrrrtttsssssss………..!!!

No.  No aplomb whatsoever, cool or otherwise. Hence he and I lay on the sofa in the living room watching peppy kiddy fare awaiting the next onslaught.  After frequent trips to his bedroom, I finally lay down with Sally, encouraging him to read himself weary with my old Archie comics and then chat inanely in my half-sleep, trying to bore him into unconsciousness.  To no avail.  He finally suggested that the one thing that might lull him to comfort, and ultimately sleep, would be….

Ummmmm…. TV.

And yes, I bought it.  Fine.  Yes, let’s go. TV, surely, will ease your pain and send you drifting back to dreamland.  Whatever. Within mere moments of his settling back onto the fresh, clean fabric of my sofa… “Bllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeeeeeeeecccccccccccccchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Sofa.  Floor.  And then bucket.

And so… here I lay, enjoying the company of my dear Sally (now wide awake, I might add).  As well Tyrone, Uniqua, Austin and the other swell, wholesome little beasties that are the Backyardigans.

As I ponder… who next?  And when?!?!

Edited to add: 2:44am, re-run of Daily Show… he sleeps.

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