Puke, Puke and More Puke

What a rough weekend for my poor oldest son. Gibson early Sunday morning (I am talking way too early) woke my husband and myself up with his crying... OK screaming. So thinking that this was just a dream that turned into a nightmare; I sent my husband upstairs to console him. Boy was I wrong. Dead wrong. Puke was everyware. In his hair, on his pillow, on every sheet on his bed, every blanket on his bed, his pajamas, on the floor, the table next to his bed, on the ceiling, on all the walls. Maybe I am stretching the story a little too far on the last couple, but I think you get the idea. It was gross. My manly husband a short while later came downstairs to get some help from me, then totally bailed. He couldn't stomach it. Liar. Needless to say I didn't get much sleep that night. I hate the flu.