If you plan on eating in the next 30 minutes, do not continue reading.
Daniel has been sick with a high fever and mucus, which no doubt he picked up from his Mom's Morning Out program. Last night, the three of us were in the kitchen preparing dinner: salmon, white wine butter sauce, and green beans. Daniel was doing his usual dinner-prep-only-antics of tugging at my pants and begging, "Up, up, up!" Joe being the sweet daddy he is, hoisted Daniel up on his shoulders for a better view. Daniel completely flipped out at this and started crying for me, so Joe bent down and I put Daniel on my left hip so I could continue stirring the sauce with my right hand.
As Daniel calmed down, I heard the dreaded combo, the mucus cough followed by a gag, which signaled I had exactly 0.3 seconds before he was going to spew over my shoulder and down my back. In one fell swoop, I swirled him around onto his belly so he would vomit on the floor rather than on me; however the spew happened before he was totally in position. When I looked up, Joe was standing in horror, covered from his left shoulder down to his foot in toddler puke. Daniel only had a tiny bit on his sleeve from wiping his mouth, and I only had some on my sleeve as well. So there was Joe yelling "Uggghhhh!", there was Daniel crying about the foul taste in his mouth, and I busted out in hysterical laughing. In about three minutes, all of us were in our skivvies tending to the aftermath. About this time, dinner was ready, which we opted to reheat about 10 minutes later once the ick-factor had worn off.
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