Oh, yuck

Thankfully, Daddy had believed her more than I had, so he had put an empty trash can beside her bed and told her to throw up in there if she had to.

She was a shaky mess after that, so I got a cool cloth and put it on her forehead. Then I lay down in her bed with her, and we chatted for a while to calm her down.

That's when she told me, with tears in her eyes, that she didn't want to go to school the next day because her teacher had told them that they would be having "lots and lots of tests to do."

"I don't like tests," Sam said, her lower lip quivering. "'Cuz Mrs. S won't tell you the answer if you don't know, and I don't like it when I get a paper back and it doesn't have any check marks on it." (her teacher puts check marks beside right answers)

Ah ha! I thought. I, being a very smart and good-listening mommy, have discovered the reason for the vomiting episode!

We talked about tests for a while, and why we have to take them, and what kinds of tests she was supposed to take the next day (I think it was the DIBELS, those assessment tests some districts do at the beginning, middle and end of each school year to make sure kids are progressing well). She was much calmer then, although she wasn't sleepy yet.

So I trucked her to my room, thinking that at least I could get some sleep while knowing that I was close by if she needed me. We brought the freshly washed trash can with us and put it beside the bed.

Cut to two hours later: I wake up with a gasp, with vomit in the bed. Sam is running toward the bathroom, crying and throwing up.

She managed to miss the trash can, the sink and the toilet.

And -- and I'm sorry for the grossness, but I've just gotta share -- the worst spot was at the exit of my room and the entrance to the bathroom, where she puked while running around the corner.

Yuck. Yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck.

So much for my theory of it being about test anxiety.

I'm always torn at gross moments like these. How long do I spend consoling her vs. how quickly do I clean up the nastiness? In this case, I helped her rinse out her mouth when the bout was over, and then I pulled her hair back in a ponytail because, well, it's just long enough now to get in the way of flying vomit.

Then I helped her change her clothes -- don't try to picture what they looked like; you'll lose your lunch, too -- and wrapped her in my bathrobe to keep her warm because she was shivering and still whimpering.

It took me almost 10 minutes to get the bed and walkways sufficiently cleaned up -- the hallway got a towel thrown on top of the offending areas -- and then Sam got a short speech about hitting the trash can next time.

"Next time" was 30 minutes later. She hit the trash can.
The time after that was another 30 minutes later. She hit the trash can.
An hour after that, she missed and hit the bed again.
An hour and a half later, she hit the trash can AND the sink. (Good girl!)

So it was a long night. She was home from school Tuesday, obviously, and Wednesday because she was still running a fever, at least until about noon.

Back to school today -- only to be sent home around 10 a.m. because her fever was back up to 100. That means no school tomorrow, either, because she has to be fever-free for 24 hours before they'll let her back.

A fever I can handle. As long as there's no more vomit. *shudder*