I'm so bad at vomit.

Oh, I SO hate it when one of the kids wakes me (why never Dad?)up in the middle of the night to inform me that they've hurled, vomited, puked, up-chucked, barfed....you get the picture. Last night, about a mere hour into my REM sleep, I was greeted with the tell-tale "my tummy hurts" by my oldest. I hustled him back to his room, grabbing a bucket on the way, and proceeded to spend the rest of the night holding it for him, emptying it out, rubbing his back, all the while trying not to lose it myself. You see, I am a sympathy puker. Yep. Throw up in front of me and I will inevitably join in. It's why I don't have any friends who are bulimic (well, not really - I like my friends to be crazy in other ways).

A funny story from the past: my roommate & I give a very cute, very intoxicated guy a ride home from a party. She's driving her brand-new car and thinking she's so cool & this guy is going to fall in love with her (or at least remember her in the morning). Suddenly, he starts retching in the backseat. I roll down my window and throw up out the window at 50 mph. Not a good idea since I was wearing my cute new eyeglasses (right about the time glasses became an accessory, not just a necessity). You guessed it - my glasses flew off my face along with my dinner. Never to be seen again.

I'm proud to say that when one of my off-spring needs me to buck up and hold the bucket, I am able to do it. I didn't breathe out of my nose, but I didn't puke either!