Sucky fact: Georgia gets migraines. If she's too hungry, too hot, too tired, too anything, she gets sick and ends up hurling. On Monday after school she went to her book group (the Chipmunk Hotel)and I get a call an hour into it telling me Georgia wants me to come get her. I race down there, scoop her up, and try to race home before the inevitable. "Let me know if you are going to puke," I say as I drive. Two minutes later, about a block from our house, she says, "Mom, I think I'm going to BAAAAAAAAA...!" There is no where to pull over, no window to roll down, and as I glance in my rear view mirror I literally see the hurl coming towards me. She is directly behind me and has awesome projection. It hits my head, my shoulder, my arm. And once she starts, she can't stop. And did I mention that she screams as she vomits? Very loud, gurgley cries. I get her home, stripped, and in the tub and then head back out to the scene of the grime. The worst part? You know that pocket on the back of the front seats for storing maps and such? I don't think I'll ever be able to use mine again, now that it's been a spew receptacle. I scrub and wipe and clean until my hands are numb from the cold (it's 20 degrees)and then proceed to do laundry for the rest of the night. So how was your evening?
