The true test of family, in which we speak of puke.

On the drive to St. Louis this weekend, Pea was whinier than normal. Silly mommy wrote it off to the fact that she had missed a few naps and had eaten crap all day. (Well, not literally crap, just not my choice of "healthly" foods.)

She never goes to bed early when visiting her cousins as she is too wired and excited to be there, and I usually have to snuggle with her in our bed until she calms down. So imagine my surprise when, as I'm about to pick her up, I hear a gurgle, the likes of which I have not heard since she was 3 months old.

You know, the "diaper blow out" gurgle.

As she is laying on top of my sister's beautiful quilt, I scoop her up, and rested her on my lap while I dove for the light. Before I even had it on, I could feel dampness seep through my pantlegs.

Ugh.

I carry her carefully to the bathroom for a bath to rinse off the nastiness that is covering her backside and back. Dress her, cuddle her, put her in the toddler bed. 15 minutes later we hear: "Mommy, my blankie is wet".

Huh?

I flip on the light to her room to see her blanket, jammies and sheets covered in puke. Poor girl, at the tender age of 3, she really hasn't been sick yet, and has never thrown up, so she did not know what to make of the nastiness she was covered in, other than it smelled bad. Ugh, take 2.

Downstairs for bath #2 of the evening. My sister digs out yet another pair of outgrown pajamas, and we almost make it to the stairs before I hear a small belch. I reacted in time to catch most of it on my sleeve. (Yes, the glamorous life I lead - I know that the more I catch on me, the less hits the floor.)

We decide none got in her hair, dig out a 3rd pair of pajamas (soon, she is gonna be sleeping in a Halloween costume or dress-up clothes. This is getting ridiculous). I get her settled back in bed to find my brother-in-law mopping up puke from the floor. I go looking for my sister. She is outside, on the sidewalk, hosing off Pea's blankie. At midnight. "I need to get the chunks off before I wash it, I think."

Now, your own vomit is nasty enough. Cleaning up your kids is a struggle alone - but another person's, or another kid's? That is a sign of dedication and consideration. (Remember your bachelor party, my dear husband? Only one who really loves you will clean puke out of a kitchen sink. But thats a different story)

At this point, my sister is running out of clothes to lend me (and who can blame her) and I refuse to bow to the fact that I need to wear my brother-in-law's clothes because I'm so much bigger than my sister, so I throw back on the sweater I wore earlier in the day.

So a big thank you is owed to my sister: for cleaning up puke, doing 2 loads of laundry at midnight on a Friday, for not freaking out at the possibility of puke and poo in her guest room. She found clothes for me and Pea, made up the kids' Dora fold out couch for Pea to sleep on in the living room (while I slept on the couch), and even provided linen spray for my wimpy husband who complained the room smelled like vomit. (He should have been wearing it. Then he could complain!)

She is far more experience than I am when it comes to caring for sick kids - her kids really have been put through the wringer, between ear tubes and asthma, and all kinds of other stuff - so she was a true champion.

Pea was back to normal in the morning, so whatever it was seemed to have been taken care of in one form or another. I think packing away pancakes and then bouncing on the trampoline was a pretty good indicator that she was feeling better (although, I was at the ready with a garden hose.)

So here's to family. Jill, I'd throw up at your house any time!