Spent some quality time this evening cleaning up puke.

Not mine. Button’s.

I would rather it had been mine, not only because it breaks my heart when she’s sick, but also because I have the ability to direct vomit into the sink or the toilet or a bowl or some single location other than all over the new couch, her clothes, my clothes, the blanket, the living room carpet and the hallway.

I suspected we were possibly in for an illness because a) this was the first week of her new “Tuesday School” and “Wednesday School” programs, and exposure to other kids always means contagious ickiness,  b) she has not had an appetite for the last day and a half, and c) she told me she was sick today.

But she very rarely gets pukey, so that kind of caught me by surprise. After she refused most of her dinner, I was able to get her to eat a stick of string cheese. In hindsight, that was not my best move.  Cheese chunks do not willingly go down the bathtub drain.  And picking up pieces of regurgitated food is not my idea of a party.

I know, I’m hard to please.

I bathed her, washed our clothes, cleaned up the carpet and furniture, and washed my hands, but I cannot get rid of the “phantom puke smell.”  I hate that.

Poor kid.  It scared her.  I tried to simultaneously soothe her while whisking her into the bath tub and stripping off all the clothes and diaper.  The warm water seemed to help, and soon she was obviously feeling better.  Toward the end of the bath, however, she started complaining that her tummy hurt again.  I prepared myself for Round 2.  Fortunately, that never came.  She fell asleep in my arms.

I’ve been trying desperately to find a babysitter for Saturday.  We have tickets to a matinée that we didn’t know about until yesterday, and I’ve completely struck out in finding someone to look after her on such short notice.  Now it’s looking like that won’t be much of an issue anymore.

Tonight I had some bad sushi. It tasted good. But it didn’t agree with my insides and for a while I wasn’t sure whether it was the sushi, or my insides, that were about to exit my body in a rather unfriendly fashion.

Consequently, I spent a good portion of the evening alternating between the couch and the toilet.

J is gone on a business trip tonight so it was just me and Little Button for the evening. It is surprisingly difficult to spend an evening sick on the pot with a curious and concerned toddler investigating, questioning, and playing doctor.

“Are you ok Mama?”

(between winces, and with my head in my hands) “Not really. Mama’s a little sick right now.”

“You’re SICK. Are you ok Mama?”

“I will be ok soon. Mama just needs to go potty. Can you go watch TV for a few minutes?”

“Do you have an owie? Does your eyes hurt? Do you have an owie on your arm?”

“Mama’s tummy hurts.”

“Mama has an owie on her tummy. Does it need a kiss?”

“No thank you. But thanks for offering.”

(Removing a strip of toilet paper to wrap around an old scratch on Mama’s arm) “Mama has an owie RIGHT THERE. Put this on it because it makes it feel all better for you.”

“Thank you sweetie.”

(Grabbing my arm at attempting to pull me off the toilet) “Puuuuuuuuuulllllll! Puuuuuuullllll! Go out there. Go into the living room, Mama.”

“I can’t right now, baby. Go ahead and I’ll come in a few minutes.”

“I need some toilet paper!”

“No you don’t. Don’t take any more toilet paper. Leave it alone.”

“I love you Mama! Hold you?”

“I love you too, but I can’t hold you right now. I’m going potty.”

(Attempting embrace) “HUUUUUG!”

She then found a small flashlight and proceeded to spotlight and name Every. Single. Item. in the bathroom.

“Shine the light and then you can see it. This is a scarecrow! How about the scarecrow’s basket? How about the toilet paper? How about the door! How about the shoe! How about Mama’s knee? How about Mama’s other knee! How about Mama’s cheek! How about Mama’s arm! How about Mama’s tummy! How about Mama’s boob!”

“Button, can you please go watch TV for a few minutes.”

“Are you ok, Mama? Mama has an owie.” (Runs down the hall) “Your SICK!”

Yes, I’m behind.  I have guilt.  But WordPress has suddenly become very temperamental about the whole “uploading pictures” thing.

We only went trick-or-treating at 2 houses for Halloween, on account of spending the evening at the church Fall Festival. But Little Button caught on immediately. Stand and the door in your Tigger costume and say “tickertreat” when it opens, and someone will offer you CANDY? And even let you EAT IT? Su-weet!

On the way to the Fall Festival, she snacked on her costume in anticipation of all the candy we told her she would accumulate at the fair … I swear we feed her.

Once we made it to the festival, however, she claimed a death grip on a very sticky lollipop and didn’t put it down for the rest of the evening. She even did a barrel race one-handed, because using both hands would require lending the CANDY! I WANT CANDY! to Mama for 5 seconds, and that … that would be a fate worse than death.

Button was a very busy girl that evening. She fed the animals (fortunately, pre-lollipop):

…rode some rides, played some games, acquired a nice collection of candy, and even developed a huge crush on the Chik-Fil-A cow:

It was love at first sight. She spent several minutes staring at him in wonder from afar before working up the courage to introduce herself. When he bent down to give her a hug, she ran into his arms and exclaimed “I love you!”

As it turns out, the church could have saved a bunch of money on this whole carnival-esque shindig, because (aside from the cow) her most favorite part was not the train ride, the many bounce houses, nor the games. It was the small bales of hay stacked everywhere for decoration.

She climbed on every single one we passed, and could have continued to do so for several hours if left to her own devices.

Despite overstimulation and a sugar high, we made it through the evening enjoyably, and I think Halloween will officially enter Little Button’s list of Cool Holidays to be Repeated with More Orange Lollipops Next Time Please Mama Thank You.  At the end of the night she was exhausted, but left in high spirits, dragging her backpack behind her.

One of Little Button’s new idiosyncrasies is complete disinterest in changing her diaper, especially when it’s poopy.

“Button, do you have poopies?”

“No.”

“I think you do. I can smell it. Let’s go change your diaper.”

(running to hide in a corner) “I’m still pooping!”

“You are? Ok, we can wait a few minutes.” (a few minutes later) “Are you done yet?”

“No. I’m still pooping.”

“Button, I think you’re done pooping by now.”

“No, I wanna poop some more!”

While in Seattle, she was in the car with her grandparents (whom she calls Ana and Papa) when a distinct “aroma” started emanating from her diaper.

Papa: Button, are you poopy?

Button: No. Ana’s poopy. Ana has poopy pants!

She’s got the diversion tactic down better than some politicians.  Watch out Hilary.

OK we have the loudest doorbell in the world. As in, “full-on surround-sound chiming song that reverberates throughout the house and makes the windows rattle” loud. (By the way, why is it that every doorbell always rings the same chime? Who came up with that and decided “THIS is the tune that will forever announce that someone has arrived?”)

Little Button is napping in our bedroom today, which is right off the entryway and the FedEx man just showed up. I was unsuccessful in my attempt to beat Mr. FedEx to the door, so he rang the doorbell.

DIIIING DONNNNG DIIIING DONNNNG! DONNNNG DIIIING DONNNNG DIIIING!

And then I opened the door and the security system (which is located in our bedroom) sounded: BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP!

Somehow, Button slept through it - even with the door open. She’s still asleep.

Perhaps I should let her nap on my bed more often.