Friday night just after 10, I was almost ready to go to bed. Then I realized Zoodle was fussy in his crib. I went to check on him--he'd had a hard time going to bed too, and he seemed to need me. So I picked him up...
...and was promptly christened with pink vomit. (We'd had smoothies for dinner.) Ew, ew, ew. (Oh, and also...ew.) Over an hour later, the carpet was clean (thanks to three treatments of OxyClean followed by the steam cleaner), Zoodle was in bed with a change of clothes, and I was freshly-scrubbed after a much-needed shower.
Saturday morning I made waffles (which even Zoodle ate--thank goodness the upset tummy ended as quickly as it began.) I overfilled the waffle maker by a bit, and a couple of minutes later realized it had overflowed, and I was confronted with a puddle of waffle batter on the tile floor. I groaned inwardly.
Then I had a thought. Well, it sure beats cleaning pink vomit off carpet!
With a quick paper towel swipe, the tile was reasonably clean, and I was enjoying my newfound perspective. I mean, when you've had a horrible clean-up job like I had Tuesday, not much compares.
I knew I was sweaty after my run Friday morning. But to put it in perspective, I told myself, "Well, I sure smell better than when I had dried vomit in my hair!"
Ah, the perspective brought by puke. Thanks, Zoodle!