Hyvee, I apologize.

*If you have a weak stomach, I apologize, read at your own risk!* 


Yesterday (Friday) we had to go to a town about 45 minutes away to pay a bill. In this town there is a new, amazing Hyvee. It's a grocery store if you don't have them to know what it is. I am gluten free and our choices are limited in my small town of about 13,000. Hyvee has a fantastic selection so we decided to go there while we were in town. 


The boys had eaten on the way so Jake had a nice, full stomach. He was having an okay day, but it got better when he saw the firetruck shopping cart. He and Charley are 'driving' along; Allen and I are looking in the meat counter; all is well. And then it happens: Jake starts randomly coughing. Tickle in the throat, beginning of a cold, allergies, I don't know, but NOT good. He keeps coughing. I am trying to convince him that he's good, to stop coughing. More coughing and then that first gag. Dang it. If you know my son well, you know that if he gags once, you are in trouble. 


Well, I'm used to a different Hyvee and wouldn't you know it, they don't all have the same layout. The bathroom was not where it should have been. I am running toward the bakery, which is at the left of the store, from the meat department, which is at the back of store. Allen is yelling at me that the bathrooms are by the cash registers at the front of the store. Jake is gagging. I am going, "Just hold it! Mommy is hurrying!" He tried, God bless him. He really really tried. But I'm an idiot and ran to non-existent bathrooms. 

After I realize there's nothing there but baked goods, I turn around and start running back the other direction, trying to find a way to the front. People need to learn not to block an entire isle while they are looking at horribly unhealthy snack cakes, by the way! I seem to have been running forever and I'm back at the meat counter. I see a trash can, I head that way. 


Jake cannot hold it anymore and the vomit starts coming. SO much vomit. We literally left a trail probably 20-30 yards long. He is covered from his nose down, because it came out of his nose too. His shirt, shorts, socks, shoes....that poor firetruck cart... Luckily Allen grabbed Charley so he was clean. Jake is upset because he thinks I'm mad at him. I am reassuring him that it's okay and I'm so proud of him for holding it as long as he could and that I'm sorry I didn't get him to the trash can in time. By the way, No vomit made it into that trash can. 


I go to the butcher, he gives me a roll of paper towels. Allen goes to the customer service desk and tells them of our 'incident' and they call for a janitor. I am cleaning Jake, people are walking through vomit. Do people not look where they are walking?! There is a trail of some odd looking liquid in the floor and it does not occur to you to dodge it? Really? I don't have the heart to tell them that their Sketchers Shape-Ups now have my child's vomit on them. I am cleaning Jake the best I can when it hits me that I don't have spare clothes in the car because I'm stupid like that. A janitor comes and 'cleans' the floor. I use that term very lightly because I did a better job with my portion of the floor using nothing but paper towels. 


I inform Jake that I need him to stand up so I can get it off his legs because we can't go to the front of the store to leave until he isn't dripping anymore. I clean his legs and tell him to sit back down so I can get to his shoes. It is at this point that he makes me giggle. I love this little boy, he is a funny kid. He looks me squarely in the face and says, "Are you freakin serious?" I say, "Um, yes. Sit down so I can finish wiping you off." Jake again, "There is puke in this seat, I am NOT sitting back down." Me: "Have you looked at yourself? You have puke from the nose down, I don't think sitting in a little is going to hurt you." Jake: "IT IS COLD! I AM NOT SITTING IN IT!"   I have to wipe the seat out before he will sit back down, covered in vomit. 


We take the butcher his paper towels back and go to look for anything to put on him. They have Missouri State Bears shirts. $13.99 adult XL t-shirts that I will be putting on a child that wears a size 6/7. Oh well. It works. I take that poor, disgusting firetruck to the customer service desk, my child still utterly grotesque. I look at the man who has this horrified look on his face and say, without missing a beat, "We're the ones who threw up all over your store, where would you like for me to leave this cart because it needs cleaned." He says..."Um...there is fine." Jake and I head to the Jeep while Allen and Charley pay for his shirt. 


Outside it occurs to me that we have no keys, it is cool and windy at this point, the doors are locked and he is wet from head to toe. He is walking like a penguin because it feels gross. I am holding his vomit covered hand. We have to wait for Allen to come unlock the door. He is yelling at me that is cold. I am explaining that I cannot break into the car. We get into the car and I find the baby wipes and fight him to keep him from getting into the car. He looks utterly bewildered that I will be stripping him down naked in between the doors of the Jeep and cleaning him in the parking lot. "What if people see me," he says, "These wipes are SCRATCHY!" 


I clean him off the best I can with my available scratchy wipes and put his shirt on, to which he says, "I love my new shirt." I'm glad. That is what I was going for. He watches Cars in the backseat all the way home, curled up in his new, giant shirt. We get home and I get to play with vomit covered clothes and shoes because they have to be washed. I want to take a bath in Lysol, but I don't. I take a shower and go to bed. Jake does not. Allen gets to fight with him again because 5 year old boys don't need sleep now. I wake up with my 2 year old and 4 pound chihuahua in our king size bed...no husband. I go into the other room and find Allen and Jake both sleeping in a twin size bed, more of them hanging off than actually on it. I have to laugh. 


Times are tough, always. But even in the bad, vomit covered times, you have to laugh at yourself and your situation when you can. It's better than crying because someone will still have to clean up the mess; you can do it through tears or giggles, your choice!