“Mama! The laundry room is covered in squidgy bits of apple and cinnamon!” was how my daughter woke me up bright and early on Boxing Day morning.
After a wakeful night, holding my son’s hand through his seemingly endless nightmares, the brain was still out of action.
Mmmm… apples and cinnamon!
In the laundry room?
I rushed downstairs to discover that those squidgy apple and cinnamon bits – which the anklebiter had stepped in – were in fact…
…. puke. Dog vomit.
Less fragrant than cinnamon, for sure.
It seems that Sir Pe was up all night with our friends’ dog, who managed to puke three times in the living room. Narrowly missing the sofa, TV and lovely, fluffy rug. After cleaning up after him three times, he finally put the dog in the laundry room and shut the door.
The apples and cinnamon that met my eyes would have made the director of The Exorcist proud! It was the kind of projectile vomiting that managed to coat the door at the far end of the room as well as every available surface of wall, floor and washing machine with sick.
After half an hour of scrubbing and nose holding, the laundry room was cleaned. And that was before my first cup of morning coffee! Then it was a brisk walk back to our friends’ house with the poor dog in tow – before he blew again. And blow he did!
Couple that sleepless night with a 5 am wake-up call on Christmas Eve after a late night of wrapping presents, and my eyes are redder than a stop light, with more lines than a leg full of varicose veins.
So… what did you get for Christmas?