And then Nora came in and puked.
I removed Roo from the situation and plopped her in the pack and play, before she could decide that she wanted to taste it, and then dealt with Nora -- who was apparently fine, and feeling much better. Phoebe danced off to another room, Nora got a wardrobe and diaper change, and we got back to business. The kitchen needed a little additional cleaning, so Ruthie remained in what we have dubbed the "Mouse House".
She really was not that pleased. So somewhere in the excitement, Phoebe pranced off to my bedroom to entertain our sad little Roo. Phoebe hoisted herself into the House, and brought with her a whole host of new toys. (With Phoebe, more is more... all the time.) I think Ruthie was pacified for a few minutes at least; and by the time I was done with Nora, she wanted to join the fun in Mommy and Daddy's bedroom.
I honestly didn't think much of the throwing up. She seemed fine, it was business as usual. Ruthie made it known that she was more than ready to be removed from her house, so the big girls took over her spot. They brought with them more toys.
As I'm watching this scene unfold, I couldn't help but marvel at the fun they were having... and at the royal mess they were making. I was mentally congratulating myself for not freaking out over the toys strewn everywhere. I read somewhere -- I think it was before I had babies -- that children shouldn't play in Mommy and Daddy's bedroom, that it should be considered a sacred place, free from toys and evidence of children. My heart swelled with a little pride as I realized I was able to let go of the crazy for just a few minutes, and to let these little girls play.
And then Nora puked.
In case you were wondering, this is the face of a child just about to become ill. Like, seconds later. I realize now that she really didn't want me to take her picture; she was just trying to climb out of the pack and play. Bless her heart.
And thus, we ushered in a long weekend of stomach virus. So in retrospect, the chaos of a few dozen plastic megablocks scattered on the bedroom floor is pretty calm, compared to the insanity of extra laundry, upset tummies, and little lovies who aren't quite sure how to aim their illness.