The Banter of Barf

I’m grateful that my kids don’t get sick very often or very seriously (knock on wood).  Of the three, though, my oldest has the most sensitive stomach.

Still it was a surprise yesterday when my in-laws brought him home after a visit and reported that upon getting out of the car, my son threw up on the sidewalk, tidy as can be.

We went about our business today.  He didn’t seem particularly sick, but he stayed home from school anyway.  I felt it might be good to stay on the safe side for the other kids, he wanted to stay home, and I thought we’d both benefit from some rare one-on-one time.  (For the record, he worked on his early literacy skills book and math pages for almost two hours on his own accord.  I could hardly believe it.  He probably got more accomplished this afternoon that he would in a class setting for a week.)

Anyhoo, upon coming home from an outing with his dad, we had the following exchange:

Son:  I was easing up in the car.

Me:  What do you mean, “easing up in the car”?

Son:  (pointing to his throat, making an unpleasant face)  Feeling sick.

Me:  You were getting queasy in the car?

Son:  Yeah.

Me:  Do you want to lie down and rest or try to barf it up?

Son:  I want to barf it up.

Me:  Okay.

Son:  Will you come with me?

Me:  Sure.

Son:  I have to pee.

Me:  Okay.  Pee first and I’ll come join you for the barf.

That last sentence in particular, why is it not too strange to come from my lips?

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