Taste The Rainbow….really, taste it.

The boy had been repetitiously slurping on the rainbow swirled suckers from the savior of every shopping parent, everywhere, otherwise known as The Candy Store. I don’t know how I ever got through shopping without the use of such a candy savior. I think he had three so far. And the gummy bears, oh the gummy bears. A plethora of gummy bears in all the fruity rainbow flavors….

And when he puked, his puke was a conglomeration of milk, fruity gummy bears, and rainbow swirls of melted and partially digested sucker juice. It brings a whole new meaning to the term, taste the rainbow. How bout, see the rainbow, then re-taste the rainbow. Now clean up the rainbow Lilly. Clean up the half digested rainbow. Yeah, you clean that rainbow.

Then…..taste the rainbow again, and even a third time. How does a rainbow of fruity flavors taste after the third time? And how does one kid puke three times in a row in one store? Well, I’m not sure, but I sure the hell am glad I wasn’t there to witness….I mean to clean it up. Thirty seconds before my boy puked, three times, I had left the wife and the boy and the baby in the dressing room in Banana Republic.

“Yeah, call me if you need anything,” Was the last thing I said to the woman as I left her in the dressing room with over 2,000 bucks worth of clothes to try on, a toddler, and a crying baby. Hey, I had to make it to the Billabong and Quiksilver store before they closed. Time was wasting and this was multitasking at it’s best. You mean leaving the kids with the wife isn’t considered multi-tasking? Hmm.

Okay so my phone got left in the diaper bag, in the stroller, in the dressing room where I had left them. And seconds after I left the room, he blew chunks everywhere. And then the woman called my phone, several times, while she stood there naked, in the dressing room, with puke all over the place, a screaming and faint 27 month old boy, and a screaming baby who was overdo for a nap and a bottle.

But I didn’t feel too bad for her. A little bit, but ehhh….not too much. Hell, the last time the boy puked in a public place it was all over me in the middle of a restaurant. Chunky chicken vomit bomb. Blaaahh. So she had it coming. As she replayed the gut churning story for me an hour later when I finally got back from spending her money on the credit card she gave me with my name on it, (hey, I’m a SAHD, what do you expect), I showed sincere pity and sorrow on my face, and I sincerely, with all of my being, was laughing my ass off way deep down inside. Ahh man, if she could have just heard me laughing, she would have even thought it funny too. She really missed out on the good time I was having when she told me about how she was on her hands and knees, while naked in between trying on suits, mopping up three piles of vomit off the changing room floor with nothing but butt wipes, the boy’s extra change of clothes we keep in the diaper bag, and some napkins the Banana Republic employee tossed under the door for her. Good times all around.