22 June 2010

I Win. Again.

     Just like the runway walking model and the captain of the Titanic, I have again hit the humor lotto.  I am not sure how this is happening, but it feeds my heart.  I just love funny.
Warning: if you are not yet a parent and/or have a weak stomach, you may not want to read any further.

     I mentioned last week, that the girls made the competitive track team.  It has made them so happy to charge around as hard as they can go in the 100 degree (heat index) weather. If most of the world were run like this track club, there would be a lot less mischief.  Follow the rules and you are welcome here.  If not, there is an athlete who wants that place on the team.  I like it. 
     It is just "hot like Africa".
    Last night, the hottest night so far, we assembled for the "Mandatory Monday" Meeting.  A man and two young boys were in front of us on the bleachers. About 10 minutes into the meeting, one of the boys leans over with his face nearly on the concrete and throws up.  He made as little noise as he could. When he thought he was done, Daddy picked him up and rubbed his head. Shortly, he started up again, causing the people seated immediately in front of him to move out of the line of fire.
    We froze (after I searched my ridiculous purse, suitable only for Easter and Mother's Day for any thing that might assist.  Nothing.  Not even a tissue.  I guess I should turn in my mommy card.) hoping that by not showing any response, we would help preserve their dignity. A little.  The dad handled it like a champ, relaxed, slow, comforting.  Better than I would've by a long ways.
     When the meeting ended 10 minutes later, a mom, coming down the bleachers looks at this dad and asks, "Is that vomit?"

Is that vomit?

She said, "Is that vomit?"

1. Really?
2. Are you a mom?
3. Is it possible that this man was in the mood for a nice bowl of chili and brought it with him to the track on this hundred degree day?  And then spilled it?
4. If you were a dad standing next to a pool of you-know-what, would it make the whole thing better for you for passers-by to quiz you about it?
5.  Why do you need this information?  What does it have to do with you? 
6.  Can you REALLY not tell?  I mean, your child is over 8 or s/he couldn't be on the team.  You really don't recognize it when you see it?  Good for you!!!
7.  We don't know.  Would you smell it for us?*

This post is brought to you by the letter V and the letters pB and d.

*I did not think of this one, Mickey said this when I told him about it.


  1. That is horrible. That poor kid and dad.

  2. haha how ridiculous! what a great dad to handle it so well! i'm not at that point yet. i'm dealing with spit-up, not vomit. but i hope i'm able to take it like a champ when the time comes! poor kid!!

    thanks for vising my blog! i'm now following you & look forward to reading more posts!!

  3. Who asks that? Couldn't she smell it? How mortifying for that little boy and dad.

  4. Thanks, Cameron!!!

    I forgot to mention, the trainer checked him out and he was more than likely just too warm.

  5. I totally would have WANTED to say "I don't know why don't you check it out and tell me" as I shoved her face first down into the vomit.

  6. No lady it's barf!
    Poor kid and wonderful dad.


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