Merry Christmas, Pass the Bucket

A week before Christmas, when I took my son to the doctor and found out he had an ear infection, I jumped for joy and did a little fist pump.
Obviously, Dr Blue Eyes thought I was nuts.
I then had to explain to him that EVERY year, someone runs a fever on Christmas, usually with puking. We may have actually dodged the bullet this time.
What the hell was I thinking?

Sure enough, on Dec 24th at about midnight, right on the fucking dot, princess starts projectile vomiting.
And of course, it was as she was up complaining of a tummy aches and said she felt like she would throw up. I told her that she had the flu mist, so even though she felt icky, she might not throw up.
I swear to God as I finished that sentence she vomited in my lap just to remind me what an idiot I was.
Crap. No. chicken. And tomatoes.
I ran and got the old Easter Buckets, then took a dam shower.
1am. Awesome.
Princess spent the rest of Christmas Eve day and evening puking into a green bucket with pink flowers, and I was in and out of coma/worry/complete meltdown.
4th year in a row. Happy Friggin Christmas.

However, there are a couple really good things about Christmas at our house.

• I order Christmas Eve dinner from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. We have pasties, which is a hand held pot pie of sorts with meat and potatoes and rutabaga. So dinner was already taken care of.
• A Clark Christmas is pretty low key, if you don't count the obscene amount of gifts. So lying on the couch in your jammies clutching a towel and bucket is no big deal.
• Nonnie is here with cookies and cuddles. I swear that woman is a walking Valium. She herself prefers Scotch, God bless her.
  

So there you have it.
I am an idiot.
We will always have someone puking over Christmas.
And it'll still be great.
God Bless Us, everyone.