My evening started on such a high note. I walked in the door, my daughter yelled “Mommy!” and wrapped her little arms around my legs. I was so happy to be home and don’t have to work the next five days. Well, about an hour later I got a pang in my stomach. Could it be something I ate for lunch? I actually got to eat a meal today without being interrupted. Mexican. My favorite. I cherished every bite like it was my last. It tasted okay, but was it? Suddenly, there was the “get your fat ass to the toilet” gurgle. Yes, I know a dignified person like Princess Kate Middleton doesn’t speak about bowel movements. Well, she doesn’t have to vacuum and mop the floors. I’ve earned the right to talk about whatever the hell I want to. Anyway, I was on the loo (love me some Brits though) and felt a different kind of pain. I was going to vomit. Now, this wouldn’t be that big of a deal for a person without children. It sucks, but is manageable. However, my husband was at a business meeting and I was home with all three kids. I shouted to my eldest to get a bucket. He was thoroughly disgusted by me. (which happens, um, oh, DAILY with a tween) My 2-year-old, on the other hand, thought I was having a party in the bathroom. She grabbed my Iphone, put on Dora and sat down on a stool near my feet. She is singing “Da, Da, Da Dora” as I am hurling. “That looks like soup Mommy.” She was oblivious to the noises emanating from my body. It didn’t bother her that I was sweating or that we we’re in the damn bathroom. “Sing with me Mommy.” I can only pray to the Lord in Heaven that this was food poisoning and not a virus. Otherwise, the kids are next and this will be the weekend from hell.