Poor Eraser-Eater Puking up Cold-Eeze

So I just got back from running a few necessary errands. Eraser-Eater was feeling a little under the weather, and I, to be honest, had a little scratch in my throat as well. We all did. We all do.

Eraser-Eater was entirely reluctant. He needed his breather earlier, as I stated, and so he was really in bad shape. I had to return a book to the library though. I had to go to the post office and pick up a package that was waiting for me (who knows what that was) and I had to go to the store and get tissues, medicine, milk, crayons, and eggs. Completely necessary things, right? Yes. I think so.

We got in the car and Eraser-Eater moaned in his usual Eraser-Eater-Sick style. His lips went white. We finally got the library and as my oldest went to the building to return the books, Eraser-Eater said, "I'm going to throw up!"

I quickly (with the car still running) guided the boy to the grass and he puked on his way there and continued to christen the grass with red gross stuff. I wiped his mouth with a tissue I found in my purse. By this time my oldest was sitting in the passenger's side seat, fingers plugged in his ears, singing a song. "Is he done?!!!"

"Yep," I say. Must have been the zinc lozenge I gave him. That was red.

We got in the car. I drove to the post office. I drove to the grocery store.

"I will stay in the car," Eraser-Eater said.
"No, you can't," I said, worried that he would throw up on my leather seats.

I had to pry him from the seat. We got to the automatic door and Eraser-Eater says, "Uh, I have to..."

So I guided him to the front of the store (where no one walks) and he tossed his cookies.
My oldest bailed. My daughter said, "Poor Eraser-Eater."

We went in the store and everything seemed quite fine. I got all I needed but felt stressed because I knew that I only had about ten minutes and the dike was going to burst again. For cleanliness' sake he would probably grab my purse and puke in it.

We finally got outside and Eraser-Eater sat in a little grass-filled median in the parking lot, about half way between the store and our car. "We are only a couple of paces up," I weakly said.

"I'll stay with him, Mom," my five year old daughter said, " you put the groceries away."

I obeyed her.

I went back and he was lying on the grass. She was maybe rubbing his back, I am not sure. He was white as a sheet. I picked him up and helped him to his seat. I grabbed two plastic grocery bags and handed them to him and he said, "Thanks."

We drove home to the sound of my son losing his lunch, my oldest saying over and over again with his fingers plugging his ears that if he hears Eraser-Eater throw up HE will throw up, and my daughter saying, "Eraser-Eater is so poor. It's okay. You'll be okay."

I kept saying, "We are almost home."

Poor kid.

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