Losing Your Lunch

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     A few years ago my husband and I went to see "Four Christmases" starring Vince Vaughn and Reese Witherspoon.  We are kind of like that couple, happy to be on our own most of the time and really enjoy that time.  The scene that had me practically on the floor, laughing hysterically was the "low gag reflex" scene, in which a baby spits up on Reese and Vince almost loses it as well.  He says, "You gotta get outta here, (gag) I'm sorry (gag), I love you, but I'm gonna do it, too! (gag)" when she's the one who should be gagging!
     I get it.  I am exactly the same way.  Early in my career, a new teacher (me), gullible, and naive, and didn't want to be, didn't let a child go to the nurse because she thought the child was faking it.  After all, he had just come in from recess during which he'd been playing handball and was just fine.  Sure....now recess is over and you don't feel good, uh, huh.  Well, that doesn't work with me, mister!  I didn't actually say that, of course, but if there were thought clouds following me around...
    Five minutes later he vomited, luckily it was on the linoleum and not on the carpet or desks, and most importantly, not on my feet!  Well, he warned me, after all.  I am ashamed to say, I had the exact same reflex as my friend Vince.  I love you, go away!  I'm gonna do it toooooo!  I managed to control myself by breathing through my mouth and not looking at it, trying to keep the others from going crazy.  It was the mid-1990s and we had yet to have phones in the rooms and relied on that big box on the wall called an "intercom."
     I told the child to go to the nurse and I called ahead on the intercom to warn them that a vomiting child was on the way.  We went outside for fresh air, me acting like it's no big thing, just a little throw up, we all do that sometimes, let's be sensitive...la, la, la.  That was my first, but not last, encounter with vomit.  Oh to be the janitor at an elementary school.  Bless the janitors.
     From that incident I learned a very important lesson:  "throw up" "my tummy hurts" and anything that could result in a child vomiting, is the magic get-out-of-class card.  So the years went along, for the most part I was successful in escaping all forms of bodily fluids including urine, feces, snot, blood, etc., by simply making the child deal with it (in a nice way, of course).  I never say "no" when a child asks to go to the bathroom, even it it's 10 minutes after recess has just ended.  It's like they know, they have a sixth sense for my fear of vomit and use it their advantage, they know, somehow, like the Children of the Corn, that I will keep my distance and not invade their private realm of uncontrolled spewage.
     So, many, many years later, as my dream class was happily, politely, and sweetly working on a math activity, the sweetest, most charming little girl, who had no symptoms, no hints, no inkling that she was sick, projectile vomited all over her table.  I witnessed it in slow motion and instantly flashed to my childhood viewing of The Exorcist.  When she was done, and we all realized what had happened, she did it again.  There was so much vomit, I was dumbfounded as to what to do but I knew if I got even a whiff I would gag, and that would crush her.  I summoned my innermost, deepest, strength that I didn't even know I had, breathed through my mouth and avoided the sight I had just seen, and calmly told the others to go outside right now and sit at the tables (so grateful the courtyard has a few snack tables right outside my door).  For reasons unknown, they all did exactly that.  Without giggling, smirking, or exclaiming, "Eeeewwww, grooooosss!"
     I came back inside to a shocked and embarrassed little girl and my heart cracked for her.  I called the nurse (really, the office, who has a full time nurse anymore?) and notified them that this girl was coming up and why.  I needed clean up, so I had to call for that.  It sure seemed like the janitor took his time, probably because I was traumatized and not anything to do with his urgent desire to clean up a disgusting mess.  I actually tried to help but nothing was salvageable.  We scooped everything on the table into a trash can and I took the rest of the kids to early recess.
     Not two days later, a different child did the exact same thing while in line to leave the room.  There was no heads up, no warning whatsoever, but the difference was that this time, he had perfect timing and rocket- vomited right as he walked past me on his way out the door to recess.  The worst thing?  Some of it landed on my semi-new, awesomely comfortable, Dansko sandals.  Ok, those cost over $100 and now I'm mad!  No, not really, but yeah, I was, but no, I can't be mad at him, he's 6, so I handed him a trash can and sent him to the office (are you sensing a pattern here?).
     Since then, there have been no other incidences, except those in other people's classrooms, to report.  These types of incidences are the reasons I shop at Target and Kohl's for clothes anymore.  Who wants to get vomit on their new outfit from Nordstrom's (can't afford Nordstrom's anyway, but still)?  The other day, last week, a sweet little girl came up to me, crying, because her stomach hurt "bad."  I whipped out a note to the office so fast one of those tears never even made it to her cheek.
 
   Take a tip from me:  Beware of sweet, innocent little girls!