ATTN: not for those queasy readers out there

Due to all the many requests I have received, I decided to turn my likeness into a Simpson's character. Enjoy. And then try: http://simpsonizeme.com/#

So moving on... I woke up this morning and went into Boston's room and he had thrown up all in his bed. Not spit up either people. Yet, somehow it ended up mainly on the floor. I found myself asking how a 1 year old would have the sense to throw up outside of his crib so that he wouldn't have to stand in it. It really was everywhere and I stood there staring at him, with barf up to his forehead, and he was jumping around in his crib smiling. I had to laugh at how happy he was -- "You're just happy because you don't have to clean this up," I said, which made him laugh and jump higher. I surveyed the scene once again and thought, "what am I supposed to do?" The obvious answer here is to go get some towels and some carpet cleaner if there's some on hand. You see, I have never had the privilege of cleaning up throw up, let alone someone else's. I found myself about to yell for my mom. Does this make sense? No. I don't live at home and haven't for quite some time. Yet seeing this mess, that I did not want to have anything to do with, made me desperately wish my mother was there. I was brought back to the three times I can recollect throwing up in places I shouldn't.
One: at my sweet Aunt Susan's house. And yes, it was right after a fantastic spaghetti dinner. My lazy, and suddenly queasy, butt didn't get off the couch until right before it was absolutely necessary. I didn't make it more than 10 steps. All over -- including a conch shell. I don't know who discovered I had hit that target. My poor parents. I can offer you a more sincere apology for not getting off the couch sooner now that I am cleaning up after Boston. Awful.
Two: at school. I'm pretty sure I was in 2nd grade. I made it to the bathroom, luckily. We were standing in line, just in from recess, and I realized that I needed to be in the girl's room within the next 2 seconds (it just happened to be right behind our line). As soon as my hands hit the door to get inside the bathroom, it happened. Yes, on the bathroom door. Not even to the toilet. To make matters worse, I went to the nurse and was laying on the cot waiting for my mom to get there and the janitor I'm assuming brought my coat and mittens and hat in. Yes, I had left them there. What, do you expect me to walk around the hall with that stuff?!? I was in 2nd grade and had an image to uphold. So the nurse comes in and says, "Ashley, are these yours?" First off, dumb question. Whose would the be? Secondly, I flat out denied it. "No. Gosh no. Those aren't mine." I'm an idiot for lying. The nurse put them in a bag and said, "Well I'm going to put them right here if you change your mind." I walked out without them, but my mom carried them out. Awfuler.
Three: in school -- again. Picture yourself in middle school. I don't know about you, but I looked awesome. I had a toadstool haircut and alternating black and orange rubber bands on my braces for Halloween (they get changed very rarely. I still had those colors on at Christmas... stupid) -- I can't script this stuff. It was that bad. So since I already had so much going for me, any self-respecting 6th grader wouldn't sprint out of the classroom if they had to throw up, right? I was clear in the back of the room already; it would have been totally obvious to the rest of my class where I was going. So you know what I did? I smartly thought to cover my mouth with my gym shirt. Think of what happens when you cover the spout of a garden hose with your finger. The poor girl sitting in front of me (Laura Gibbons. So scarring I still remember her name). It was a sneak attack of the worst sort. Luckily the casualty list was short: me, her, my gym shirt (naturally), and both our backpacks. This isn't bad enough quite yet, so the teacher EVACUATES the whole classroom to the classroom next door (which was occupied) and I'm left sitting there. The science teacher (who I had a total crush on) comes in with his hunting clothes, yes hunting clothes, and offers them to me so I could change. And then I'm left sitting there again. Alone. Waiting for the janitor. Awfulest.
All these memories came flooding into my mind this morning as I was staring at Boston's mess. My mom was not there to get me out of this one. Yes, what goes around comes around. Let this be a lesson. So I grabbed some towels and cleaner; my first official time cleaning throw up. Here's to this never happening again (please knock on some wood for me).