Yesterday around dinner time, Sara started feeling pretty sick. Like, sick to her stomach, confined-to-the-couch sick.
“Evelyn,” she said, “I can’t make dinner. You have to make dinner tonight.”
So Evelyn started making nachos, like you do when you’re a little kid and suddenly have to care for a family, and then of course Alex was crying, so she picked him up and was making dinner while holding him, and then, of course, while she was holding him, Alex started puking.
Now, holding a puking baby while making dinner is almost the stereotype of life as a mom, but I’m pretty sure it’s not the typical day-to-day for a 3rd grader.
I wasn’t home, so Sara started texting me things like, “You need to get home before I start throwing up”, “I am going to throw up, you need to get home before that happens”, “hurry”, and “too late”. She then proceeded to text me coordinates in the house where Alex had thrown up, and whether or not they had been cleaned up yet.
Basically, by the time I got home the vomit situation in our house was roughly equivalent to one of those fountains they have in Vegas.
“Evelyn is a superhero,” Sara whispered to me. Evelyn had not only taken care of Alex while Sara couldn’t, she had also fed Oliver, gotten the two of them ready for bed, and cleaned up some of Alex’s throw up locations.
That is one amazing little girl, ya’ll. I recommend her as a babysitter as soon as she is old enough (I recommend her now, but I understand if you want to wait until she’s at least double digits).
And now, I assume she shall be rewarded with the finest award a superhero could ask for: the stomach flu. As of my writing this, the three of us are unaffected, but I can’t imagine that will hold.
I’ll be over here, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
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