The Dry Heaves

This morning, like every other morning, Andrew was the first one up. His morning routine includes getting himself breakfast, practicing the piano and then, if he has time, catching a cartoon. He came to our room this morning to inform me that the milk he used for his cereal was "chunky."

"Um, what?"

Yeah, he said "chunky." I questioned if it was icy--if items are placed in a certain part of the fridge they will freeze. He said it wasn't ice--it had chunks. I went downstairs to investigate and found that indeed the milk was chunky. So then I asked him,

"So what did you have for breakfast?"

"The cereal."

"Dry right?"

"No, I used the milk, but it tasted gross so I just ate the cereal and then dumped out the left-over milk."

I then uttered the word. My "favorite" curse word. (It's the one that starts with an H and ends in double L's.) Andrew hates it when I say it. He is like my own Jimminy Cricket in the swearing department. I am trying not to do it anymore, but it slips out when I am shocked, angry, and apparently when I am grossed-out.

After disappointing my children with my lack of restraint, I took the opportunity to teach them the rule of "don't ever eat chunky milk." (Apparently I have to spell everything out for them.)

Then I went to dump out the rest of the milk. Cue dry heaves. I just kept picturing him gulping it down. I didn't realize how entertained my family would be watching me gag and heave.

Later on, we were in the car and Kiki pipes up, "Mom remember how you were gonna throw up--that was funny, will you make that sound again?"