'he had many questions, like children often do...'

I've spent the past two days home from work with my oldest son, who put a coda on Mother's Day by throwing open the gates of hell and releasing the confines of his stomach, Mr. Creosote style in Monty Python's Meaning of Life ("Ah, good afternoon sir; and how are we today?" "Better." "Better?" "Better get a bucket - I'm gonna throw up.").

A couple of things. Happily, this lovely boy of mine didn't also open up the bowels of hell, if you know what I mean. Additionally, my husband slid in just under the wire on Mother's Day and gifted me by being the one who got up when the crime scene taking place in the boys' bathroom was discovered, and remained on duty as my wafer thin boy threw up every 10 to 20 minutes throughout the night.

It's always a tough call to determine when my kids are sick, because unlike their whiny mother, they aren't big on complaining. Whereas I was praying like an old lady at a tent revival for the sweet, sweet Lord to reach down and pluck me homeward when I came down with the flu over the winter, my kids go about their merry way while rotting from the inside out. The only clue you ever get is when the projectile vomiting kicks in, and then suddenly, I start whining again.

So anyway, I've been home from work for a couple days, getting to be the kind of doting mom found in books like Love You Forever (minus the creepy stalker angle). It's not hard to feel guilty about this when you consider I pull down an enviable $41.50 per shift (don't be fooled by the rocks that I got...). Oh, and because I love my son and of course I'd be there for him when he's sick.

But after his father cleaned up after the child's puke and/or he cleaned his own bucket.

(Kidding)

(Sort of)

By PukeFest-Day 2, my son was feeling a bit better, and the pent up frustration brought on by laying on the couch for hours watching The Price is Right and Drake and Josh, and having your every whim catered to ("Duh-ream day!" she sang...), was beginning to bore him. By 9 a.m., today, he was stalking me, popping up like a jack-in-the-box at my every turn. I knew his fever must have broken because he was compelled to engage me in an actual conversation, which doesn't happen much because Yuck! I'm a girl!

Actually, it wasn't so much a conversation as a means of prepping me for a game show I'm sure is in development somewhere (like Hell) titled "Useless Crap You'll Never Need To Know!" and it's successful spin-off, "We Just Pulled This Answer Out of Our Ass so You'll Let Us Be To Watch TV In Peace. Now Go Away!" Both shows will be hosted by Regis Philben.

Here's a sampling of what he hit me with throughout the day today (it should be noted that EVERYTHING he says to me is prefaced with "Hey mom?" Everything.):

• "Hey Mom? Is George Clooney running for vice president or somethin?"
• "Hey Mom? Why do high school people text or call other people so much?"
• "Hey Mom? Who is George Clooney, anyway?"
• "Hey Mom? Have you ever heard of the blue-footed boobie?"
• "Hey Mom? Why doesn't your brain send a signal to your feet to start moving faster so you make it to the bathroom in time when you need to puke?"
• "Hey Mom? Can we talk about the Titanic incessantly?

My answers were as follows:

• "If he were running for vice president, I would vote for him. Sure, first I would get behind the issues and THEN I would vote for him."
• "B/C itz fn 2 share TMI! ROTFLMAO! YW. TTL.
• "Just the sexiest man alive. No big deal."
• "Did you say 'birdie or BOOBIE?'"
• "I don't know, but I wish it did. Wait! I bet Dad wishes it did!"
• "Please! Because we don't talk about it enough! We have 24 books and record every television program about it, and soon I'm not sure how long I can act surprised when you give away the ending!"

By the afternoon, he was beginning to feel better, bounding around the house with his little brother, and thought it might be fun to test his restored intestinal fortitude (fingers crossed on this...five hours and counting...) with a handful of spicy nacho Doritos. We ended our day with two culminating questions. The first was "Hey Mom? If I get sick tonight, are you gonna be able to handle it?"

No. A stew of spicy nacho Doritos simmered with Tool Man being out of town? No. Just...no...

His last question was "Hey Mom? Can I go back to school tomorrow?"

Absolutely. I need a real day off. And I have game show questions to bone up on.