life in alaska

See, this is why I don't like the fourth of July. I've had my set of bad July 4th memories before, and here comes my newest, perhaps my best reason to avoid celebrating.

We had a great time watching the fireworks. The kids (Riley and Logan, at least - Emmie fell asleep on the way, stayed asleep through multiple transfers from vehicle to Mom to stroller and then back again not to mention loud siblings, rain and very loud fireworks) had a blast playing with Aaron Job and Abby and watching the show. Upon Jeff's suggestion I purchased an unusual amount of junk food (side note: when I returned to the van from buying the junk food Logan asked me what I got and I said "Twinkies, for one thing" and Logan said "what are Twinkies?" so you know I don't usually get some of this stuff) and some cokes and Riley and Logan ate their fill.

As soon as we got in the van Logan's stomach hurt, but he fell asleep in the hour it took to navigate the few miles home. Riley frequently mentioned her stomach hurting - even going so far as to remark that she wished she hadn't had that coke (they never get real coke - usually just something non-caffeinated) and next time she wouldn't eat that much or drink that much coke.

Got home, carried limp sleeping children to bed, put Riley to bed, went to bed. Minutes later heard much groaning. Got up, went to Riley, sent Jeff down for Pepto. Thinking at this point is on level of an insect - pure function, no rational thought. Administered Pepto, and watched as Riley burped then proceeded to vomit. Jeff grabbed first container he could find and caught half the puke as the rest of the chocolate-and-coke gunk spewed across the white carpet (at which point I watched in an out-of-body experience and thought, I might add, of the moment when Jeff chose the color of the carpet.)

Did I mention that the container was full of Polly Pockets and other teeny tiny dolls with teeny tiny accessories? Like Polly's two-centimeter shoes and thermos and purses? So after seeing that Riley got to the bathroom to sit on the rug and await futher puking, Jeff started cleaning the carpet and I started to sort out Polly Pockets from puke chunks. Started to gag, took a brief break to violently empty my stomach, continued to sort. Soaked Pollies in baking soda and other various cleaning products, put above mentioned child back to bed, put an assortment of affected clothing items and stuffed kitten in the washer and sat down to record my latest fourth of July memory while it is clear in my head.

Did I mention that the only thing Jeff thought to grab for my sick child to puke in was a container of Polly Pockets? With all their tiny accessories? Like teeny shoes and boots and radios and purses and cups and other what-not?

Riley seems fine now, by the way. Apparently just needed to get rid of the junk food and is sleeping peacefully. I'm going to bed.