Subtle Nuances

Today when I picked Beau up from school in carpool his teacher said "Five kids went home sick today with vomiting." And before I could ask any questions she cheerfully added,"Have a great weekend!"

Pretty sure she thought "sucka" after she popped him in my car and slammed the door shut.

I asked Beau if his tummy hurt or if he didn't feel good and at first he started to say no but then quickly changed his mind and said yes, his tummy did hurt! Very bad. And adding that he thought he would feel better if he had some candy. . .

Beau had a similar tummy ache yesterday and the day before that could also only be cured by Halloween candy. So today, like I did yesterday and the day before, I ignored Beau's "tummy ache" and proposed "cure". I did tell him if his tummy really did hurt we should probably go to the doctor. He might have caught a stomach bug, I told him.

"No", he said, confused. "I got no bug."

And no more was said of tummy aches or Halloween candy.

And we went about our afternoon. The kids played at Bubbles house while I ran some errands and most exciting--besides doing my last 21 miler this training cycle today--. . . got some brand new running shoes! Brooks Trance. Way too expensive so they better be worth it.

It only took me like two hours to decide once I finally narrowed my choice down to three. I had to run in each pair at least three times on Big Peach's treadmill and outside and harass two of their employees in my decision making process. Let me tell you, they earn their pay check when I come in the store.

These are by far the prettiest running shoes my feet will have ever donned. They are silver and orange! Orange! Can you imagine? My favorite color. Oh boy. I have such high hopes for them. Soon to be dashed, I am sure. 20 days and counting down to the Atlanta Marathon. . . Come on legs! Get strong!

Yeah, so, anyway . . .

After I picked the kids up from Bubbles, Beau started complaining again that his tummy hurt. Yet he, along with Carmella, insisted on stopping at Moe's and picking up Friday-night-Mommy-doesn't-cook-dinner. Burritos they chanted. In between burrito cheers and while we waited Beau kept complaining that his tummy hurt. He even had various theories on what might remedy it: candy--of course, sitting down like a frog, leaning over awkwardly, laying on the gross floor, pushing his sister, hanging on my legs, possibly a burrito with no chicken--just beans and rice, cheese dip, a cookie, chips and salsa and so on. I decided a cheese quesadilla would be our safest bet.

On our way home we had a lengthy discussion about vomit--or as Aunt Boo would say "the upsies". (She can't even say throw up or vomit without wanting to--it makes her sick just to utter the word. Hence "the upsies". Sounds more polite at any rate.)

The reason we had the discussion about the upsies in the first place was because I brought up the point of if he needed to vomit he needed to do it in the toilet and most definitely not on his bed or the furniture or any of the rugs.

But the reason the conversation was lengthy was because Beau told Carmella and I all about everyone in his class that had the upsies today and all the special details of that. He then went on to entertain us with all the infinite and fantastic possibilities of up chucking. Oh to be a boy. I swear parenting Beau is like having a frat boy in permanent residence.

When we got home he kept complaining how his tummy hurt and how he "just needed to relax and eat his dinner on the couch--with a bucket." You know, in case he got the upsies.

I explained that we don't eat dinner laying on the couch with a bucket, especially if we are going to be having the upsies. We had a brief argument about this where he was rather emphatic and all knowing about what goes down when one gets the upsies.

At some point Beau asked me why his tummy hurt and told him he probably had caught a stomach bug. He said no. He didn't even know what one looked like. He'd never seen one. And I just ignored him and told him to either eat or go get in the shower and ready for bed.

Well he kept complaining and finally went upstairs to the bathroom. I followed him and while we were standing in the bathroom he threw up everywhere--wall, toilet, floor, himself, and narrowly missed me. And while he was standing there--half covered in vomit--he was looking around and finally said "I don't see it."

"See what?" I asked.

"The stomach bug," he said. "Where is it?"

After we got all cleaned up he insisted we look on the internet for pictures of stomach bugs so he could see what one looks like and know if he saw one or not. And despite my mad Googling skills he is still doubtful and maintaining that he has never seen a stomach bug.

Though later, while I was reading him a book he did admit that there might be four stomach bugs in his tummy and they are having a party. Every time his tummy growls he says, with big knowing brown eyes; "See. Hear them?" he asks. "Party," he says.

And I asked him what he thought might get rid of them.

"Throwing up? A shoe?" He said, questioning.

"A shoe?" I asked.

"Yeah, you know. To smash them-- like you do a roach," he said.

I've put him to bed with his bucket and his Gatorade and his water and admittedly, I am a little worried that he might try to swallow a shoe or I will find him in the middle of the night beating his tummy with his shoes. Regardless though, and definitely most importantly, it had best better not be with my new yet to be worn most beautiful running shoes ever. You can betcha there will be some upset for sure.

Oh boy. It is going to be a long night, a long weekend. And, I predict, one with little running.