House of pain

What a difference a day makes. Yesterday, as you can see from the pictures of Samson and Jane below, all was sweetness and light. Today was a completely different story. As I type this, Jane is sprawled out on our bed like a tiny chalk outline, which is probably the best response to the day.

I'll begin at the beginning. When Vicki went in to get Jane this morning, she found her sound asleep in her crib and covered in vomit. And when I say covered, this was like the final scene from a "Behind the Music" special.

Samson was feeling fine and so went to school to collect his Valentines [more on this later]. And while neither Vicki nor I felt great, we figured we could split the day, work-wise, and tend to sweet Jane. I got home from the office before noon, and Jane spent the bulk of our time together throwing up, sleeping, or looking wan. [It was like spending the afternoon with a more articulate version of a contestant on America's Next Top Model.]

Anyway, the poor thing rested most of the day and into the evening, but we're afraid to leave her in her crib for fear she might end up getting sick again in the night. Hence the chalk outline.

So tonight, as Vicki was settling Jane down into our bed, I was telling Samson stories and getting ready to tuck him in. We had just finished up one of our epic tales about Sam and his adventures with the Super Friends when he asked: "If I pick my nose, will it bleed?"

Now I should note here that Vicki and I spend a lot of time reminding Samson to get his finger out of his nose. And indeed, one of the reasons we give when the inevitable "why" is raised is that he'll give himself a bloody nose. This is not a scare tactic as he has done this before.

Back to our story: No sooner had he asked this then a veritable torrent of blood came streaming out of his left nostril. Honestly, I've never seen so much blood in person. It poured out and onto everything --- La La, the comforter, the floor, his pajamas, me.

And despite my best attempts to stanch the bloodflow, we went through three washcloths.

His mouth kept filling up with blood, at which point he would spit, so I had a spatter pattern on me worthy of a Manson family member. Honestly, we could have written all the words to Helter Skelter on the wall with all the blood that was flowing.

So Samson is crying and screaming, I'm doing my best to calm him down, and Jane --- who you'll remember is with Vicki in our bed --- has resumed throwing up. Even by our standards, this was a weird Friday night.

Never in my life have I wished more fervently for a visit from an LDS missionary or Jehovah's Witness. Honestly, wouldn't you love to be able to answer the door with a screaming toddler in your arms and blood sprayed across your face? You would forever be on their "do not call" list.

Ultimately, I got the bleeding to stop and was able to calm Samson down. Vicki did likewise for Jane, except with vomit. Everyone changed clothes and sheets, and the laundry was set on "boil" in the washer.

Boy am I glad tomorrow is Saturday...