He's single-parenting until Sunday, because I'm in my hometown for my sister's wedding. Less than 24 hours in, he's having a rough go of it through no fault of his own.
I left at 5 a.m., before the kids were even up. When I landed in Charlotte for my layover, I had a message on my phone saying The Boy had thrown a fit about going to school because "it's JUST US, Daddy!" and school days are not days when it's JUST US boys. I chuckled and got on my next flight.
After landing again, while I waited for my sister to pick me up, my phone rang around 2 p.m. It was daycare. The Lad had thrown up; could I please come get him? I called the husband, who was having a very busy day at work.
"What do you suggest?" he asked.
"Uh, get him. I guess you could take him into your office. If he's sick, he might not cause too much trouble."
So, that's what the husband tried to do. Carrying The Lad, he stopped by his boss's office on the way to his own to let him know what was going on. The Lad decided they needed a visual; he vomited. A lot. All over himself and the husband.
I've said before we work at a very family-friendly corporation. The husband said our boss's only response after all of it was to say to the coworker who'd come to Mike's rescue with paper towels and wipes (he's a very nice father of three boys), "Ed, did you get that on video?"
Needless to say, the husband went home with The Lad. Things were mostly quiet til dinner when poor little Beastie puked again and The Boy announced that his stomach hurt, too. Plus, the husband realized that in his haste to get his vomit-covered trousers in the wash, he'd forgotten to remove the work notes he'd stuffed in the pockets. Everyone is staying home tomorrow.
My kids have never thrown up -- spit up, of course, but vomit, no -- until this week, and so far, I've managed to avoid dealing with it. I feel bad for the husband, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't pleased to be 1,000 miles away from the sick. I have such a good husband. The boys have such a good Daddyman.