Sick. In almost every sense of the word.

I'm sick.

And Faye is too.

And so is this post- so don't read it if you don't want to hear about puke.

I think it is going around, but most of the cases last <24 hrs. And I am on day three.

Faye has had a fever since Sunday afternoon (Sorry nursery. I had no idea.) and has been Les Miserables ever since. Last night, just as Dave and I made the switch of sleeping with her in our bed- she started moaning and crying and then BLAM --spoiler alert-- she puked spoiled chocolate milk all over the bed. As I picked her up to rush her to the bathroom, she puked again.

There was a continuous line of pukies from the wrong side of the bed, to the hamper, to the big puddle (where I stopped at one point because I was frantic) to the bathroom- which, incidentally, was the only place she didn't throw up, but did manage to get pieces of it on the floor, toilet, wall, bath tub and towels. Super awesome.

Why am I telling you this? Because I wanted to tell you how amazing the clean-up crew was.

Dave is always on puke clean-up duty. I always take the kids in the shower and lay there with them until he finishes the clean-up. Everytime. I couldn't do it. I don't love puke. Not that he does, but he cleans it up with much less anxiety than I do.

Even his hints of Puke Pile-izations are pretty subtle:

"Hey. Next time, maybe you could just stay in one spot rather than have (and this he did as if Rambo was firing heavy artillery) Faye spray puke all over the room.

So, long gross story short: I love you, Janitor Dave.

ps. Faye is still sick with a fever and severely angry, but -thank goodness- asleep currently. Poor kid.