This is one of the few days that I'm glad I don't have children.
The last week of school before the winter holiday is hard enough: the kids are wired, sleepless, restless, overexcited, filled with Christmas candy snuck from santa dishes, and then conversely lethargic, grumpy and full of attitude. But today one of my poor little girls yacked EVERYWHERE.
I have to give my class credit: for a bunch of elementary school kids, some under 6, no one screamed, threw up in response, or held their noses. In short, they did not make her feel any worse than she already did, but that was already pretty DAMN BAD.
I cleaned it up--just mentally adding it to the list of bodily fluids I've had to touch in the years I've been teaching--held her, got her some water, told her no one was going to hate her, that this happens to everyone. I regaled her with the story of when Greg Miller threw up on my desk in 2nd grade, got her to smile. But it was nice to hand her off to her mother, to know that I won't be up all night checking on her, that my puke duty is over for today.