"Mom, I threw up."
When that happens in the middle of the night, as an experienced mother, you spring into action.
I jumped up and assessed the kid. Not currently puking.
I turned to the scene of the crime to assess the damage.
Green. Chunks. Latkes and mac and cheese everywhere. Blankie, pillow, stuffed monkey, sheets, mattress pad. I ripped it up in a pile and tossed it in the washer.
For good measure, I turned it on hot. Extra rinse.
At 1:45 a.m., I continued to secure the fortress. I triple bagged his garbage can, turned off his alarm, tucked him in, made a mental list of things to cancel for the next day, and went back to bed.
By the time the morning came, I was in full combat mode. Cleaning carpets, procuring gatorade, arranging rides, canceling appointments, sanitizing.
I went into the laundry to move the vomit sheets to the dryer, and instantly and I realized the ripple effects of my mistake.
Since I didn't scoop up chunks of partially digested bile laden leftovers, I was now left to faced laundered chunks of vomit. You know what I'm talking about. The washing machine doesn't actually rinse out chunks of things. That's how coins and legos and rocks end up in the dryer, because they don't fit down the holes in the washer. So the particularly large chunks of Annie's and lettuce are now squeaky clean. But still, puke. And then I saw it.
Stuck at the bottom with lettuce and a clear slimy thing plastered to it, was my best bra. I had tossed it in the washer with the intention of running the delicate cycle. And then I forgot. And at vomit midnight, who looks in the washer? I just left it there to be agitated on regular wash with sheets and a stuffed monkey and barf.
I carried each offensive piece of laundry to the deck, trailing clean vomiticles along the way, and tried to shake out any remnants into the lawn. Then I went to shove everything back into the washer when I realized yet another layer of my negligence.
Pieces of lettuce and innards were clinging to the inside of the washing machine. I now had to wash my washing machine.
You know how they make dishwashers that are also garbage disposals? I propose washing machines that are like a Coinstar machine. They sort out filth and toys in the rinse, and then wash it all down with a little trap door for the things you would like to have returned, like lipstick. And if that could happen BEFORE it gets all over your underwear, that would be even better. Kickstarter campaign anyone?
So alas, by 8 a.m., I had washed my washer, hand picked debris off of my best bra, and rewashed all of the contaminated sheets. Shame on me for such an oversight. As a mother of almost 8 years, I should know better than to be foiled by the middle of the night vomit knock.