Welcome to the Gross-Out Story Hour. This hour our topic is Puke. Vomit. Throw-Up. Tossed Cookies. Barf. Upchuck. Spew. You get the idea.

I find it interesting that when you tell someone a puke story they almost always have one to tell you back. I’d guess everyone has had some experience with puke; either their own or someone else’s.

I had an up-close and personal experience with puke just yesterday and was telling a friend about it. She kindly shared her story with me and I’ll share it with you. The more the merrier, right? Anyway, my friend was trying to get her young daughter to giggle and the girl ended up puking into my friend’s open mouth. I’m so grossed out just writing that! Next thing you know, my friend was puking too. I sure can’t blame her.

Teacher has been puked on by each of our children in church. One Sunday College Boy said “I don’t feel good.” I was in the midst of saying “If you think you’re going to throw up, go to the bathroom” when he tossed his cookies all over the floor, and Teacher’s legs. Two-year-old Princess lost her breakfast on Easter morning, all down the front of Teacher in his new shirt and tie. Ah yes, the good old days.

Up to know I’ve managed to avoid being puked on until yesterday’s incident ruined my lucky streak. We’d just finished lunch and the kids were bringing their dishes to the counter on their way through the kitchen to the bathroom. One of my little girls hadn’t eaten much but I didn’t think anything of it since she can be a picky eater. Plus she’d had seconds at breakfast. During lunch I’d asked her if she was going to eat and she told me “My tummy says I’m not hungry”. No big deal; if she’s not hungry she’s just not hungry. Or so I thought…

I was rinsing dishes while the children went in and out of the bathroom behind me, washing their hands and going potty. I turned to grab more dishes and saw her standing perfectly still next to the counter. For a moment I stared at her, wondering why she was just standing there. I opened my mouth to ask, but then I saw the puke in her hands and down the front of her sweater. “Oh, honey…” I said, then as I started walking toward her she opened her mouth and projectile vomited right at me. Luckily most of it landed on the floor between us, but my shoes and jeans caught the rest. After that deluge I assumed she was done so I grabbed the paper towels to start cleaning up. But she wasn’t done yet; she spewed again and again as I dashed for a bowl. The poor girl didn’t stop until I was sure she’d brought up everything she’d ever eaten in her entire life. Finally she stopped and stood looking at me, brown eyes huge in her pale face. “I don’t feel good” she said, the poor honey.

I managed to get her cleaned up, call her parents, change diapers and tuck the other children into bed. I’ll spare you the details of cleaning up; suffice it to say that it took half a roll of paper towels, several plastic grocery bags, soapy water and a rag, disinfecting spray, and over half an hour before the floor and carpet showed no signs of puke.

Once all was calm again I returned to my lunch. I’d only had time to eat half of it before the puke started flowing, and I was still hungry. Unfortunately for my ten pounds of leftover baby weight, cleaning up a puke pond didn’t curb my appetite one bit. I kinda wish it had.

I told you mine, now you tell my yours and we can all be grossed out together - the more the merrier, right?