Yet again, the Mighty Deer Hunter has exposed his wussiness *cough* vulnerability when it comes to ill children.

Shortly after getting home from my stepson’s graduation party (photos tk), Tootie collapsed on the couch and announced, “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

I sprang into action.

“What are you doing?” Hubs inquired as I hurried her into the bathroom.

“Her tummy hurts,” I replied, hastily pulling Tootie’s hair back into a ponytail.

He gave me the I know better than you look. (You know the one, ladies. It’s the same expression your significant other wears when telling you that when the “Oil Change” light comes on, it’s time to change the oil. Duh. Like I won’t get around to it. In a few years. After the engine has burned up.)

Anyway.

Tootie decided maybe she didn’t need to throw up, so I tucked her into bed with a large cooking pot and a towel.

“I’m telling you she just needs to eat something,” Hubs insisted.

“She ate two cookies, two brownies, apple pie and ice cream at the party,” I snapped. “I think she’s probably quite full.”

The E-man entered the room, clearly unhappy that his sister was getting so much attention.

“Did she throw up?” the E-man asked, almost rather eagerly.

“No,” Hubs replied.

Which is precisely when Tootie began hurling into the cooking pot.

Hubs gagged, audibly, picked up the E-man and fled.

I rubbed our daughter’s back, emptied to pot outside and mopped the floor.

Hubs and the E-man cowered on the couch.

Hours later, while Hubs curled up in the E-man’s bed, I changed the sheets in our bedroom, started the washing machine, cleaned up Tootie and told the E-man that it’s really quite rude to declare, “Mommy, I would NEVER throw up in your bed!” while your sister dry heaves and sobs.

(It’s true, though. The E-man hasn’t ever thrown up in our bed. He’s limited himself to his bed, the couch, his sister’s bed and the living room floor.)

So we’re home today, the Tootie and I, bickering over the television. For some reason, she doesn’t find HGTV or TLC quite as interesting as I do.

Hubs, meanwhile, is at work, having adult conversations with adult friends. I’m not bitter though. Because when I fall ill with this stomach bug, he’ll be all on his own when the E-man starts throwing up everywhere BUT our bed.