A while back we had a stomach virus go round the family. As usual, this meant a couple days of sickness for each of the kids. I was down for a week.

The virus made itself known during dinner. We were trying to convince C (our 5 year old) to finish his chicken when he opened his mouth and spewed a nasty grey fluid all over the table and everything else.

We leaped into action, grabbing towels and bowls and everything else we could think of. Once he finished – and the mess was cleaned up – we started the inquisition.

“Was anyone sick at school?”

“No”

“Does anything hurt? Does your head hurt? Does your stomach hurt?”

“No”

“What did you eat today? Did anything taste funny?”

“I know! I ate some crumbs off the floor at school!”

“What !?!”

“It looked like oreos.”

“Was it?”

He made a nasty face. “No.”

“So you saw some black stuff on the floor at school and you ate it?”

He nodded.

His momma looked like she was about to throwup.

“Let’s not do that again, okay?”

He nodded.

“No eating mysterious stuff off the floor.”

“Okay, daddy.”