Rain of Terror

Warning:  this is yet another blog about puke.  Kelly, if you are reading, you might want to turn back now.

As I've discussed at great length in the past, I'm not a big fan of puke.  I don't want someone throwing up in the car near me, on a plane I'm riding or when I'm standing down-wind of them.  I start sweating if I think there is any possibility of one of these scenarios.  For this reason, you will never find my kids running around after a meal at a birthday party or social event.  If they try, I run after them (risking my own digestive woes) and yell, "HEEEY!  Do you want to puke or what?"  Yes, I realize I might be a tad (or possibly more) neurotic, but my kid isn't going to be the one to lose it in the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese.

Unfortunately, not every parent takes this same precaution.  Allow me to relate to you a very gruesome tale of horrifying proportions.

Yesterday we were at Eli's school picnic where there was a deadly combination of hot dogs and a playground.  Kids were shoving hot dogs in their mouths then sprinting full speed for the monkey bars.  I felt the stir of unease within (or maybe it was the hot dog knocking).  Eli kept trying to stuff his mouth so he could run off.  I kept a firm grip on his arm.  Yes, I know, boo to the crazy mom.

After an acceptable amount of time, I finally let him go, but strongly reminded him that I better not see him moving faster than a power walk.  I followed Marina to the playground where kids were running, screaming and acting like savages.  A very short time after, I saw two staff members wearing latex gloves, approaching the area with buckets of liquid and a spray bottle.  I knew where this was going.

Some hot dog-filled child had climbed up to the top of a platform and vomited all over.  Here the most unbelievable part:  it went partially down the slide and the rest was all over the platform (what luck!).  There was no way to clear the area, so the staff members had to clean around the kids that were jumping around and pushing each other (and still trying to go down the slide!).  As I stood by and watched (horrified!), they poured the buckets full of sudsy liquid down the puke slide.  More than one kid passed by and tried to run up waterfall of puke/cleaner.  The staff member had to gruffly tell them to beat it.  In order to cleanse the platform, they dumped their buckets on the mess.  The problem with a playground platform is there are giant holes in the plastic.  The bigger problem with this playground was the group of kids huddled under the 8-foot platform sitting in a circle.  They were blissfully unaware of the gallons of puke-water that was raining down on their heads.  Everywhere I turned, kids were running and screaming, not in disgust, like I was, but in joyful innocence; completely unmarred by the stomach contents splashing on their arms.  I was hyperventilating.

I bellowed for my kids to come to me and huddle in the far corner of the wood chips.  The clean-up crew used the spray bottle to sanitize the slide and platform, then left the scene.  Within seconds, kids were flying down the slippery slide, wetting their bottoms in the process.  I forbid my kids to approach the vom-splatted wood chips or go near the germs for the rest of the night.  Eli was very displeased.  What's a little puke among friends?

This story goes into my files as a cautionary tale.  It feels a little bit like an Arrested Development line, "That's why never run on the playground after eating hot dogs!" (Remember the "That's why you always leave a note!" quote?)

I just finished dinner, maybe I should go out for a quick jog.