vomit.

6am on Tuesday.
"aaaaaaaaaaaagggggggghhhhhh" "uuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrggg" noises came up from Mols room. What? Is White Bear murdering Dog? Is a living operation being performed by Mol onto Liz?
Leaping out of bed like a cobra attacking prey Husband ran downstairs to see what the commotion was all about.
Mol lying in bed. Groaning. "I have a sore tummy." Oh for goodness sake Girl! Is that all? Be quiet! Go sit on the loo or go back to sleep it's still night time was the sympathetic response from less spring-like Husband who clomped back upstairs adrenaline all pumped out and need for sleep returning fast.
"aaaaaaaaaagggggggggghhhhhhh" thump thump stumble stumble thump thump, whack (that's the loo seat) choke cough gasp splutter choke some more moan moan uggggg spit spit choke pant cough wretch-noise drippy-gooey-drippy noises... The sound of poor neglected "go back to sleep" Mol vomming what was left in her stomach from last nights sausage beans & chip dinner (yeah yeah ok we're not that healthy I accept...).
We both "leap" (me more like crank myself out - feeling very full of cold and having had a night in a pool of sweat) out of bed and "run" downstairs to the location of the noises... Mol! No! A very pale drooping confused upset little Mol was standing forlornly by the loo which was now full of stringy yellow biley liquidy-yukkyness... Some of the stringy yellow biley liquidy-yukkiness was also dangling out of Mols mouth onto her PJ's and over the loo seat and stringing its way to the floor.
Oh lazy parents! Feeling guilty we wrapped the empty child up in a towel and wiped up the stinky stringy mess and popped her back in bed.
Fifteen minutes later more moans more thumping and whacking and ugging and wretching and heaving and moaning and stringy yukkiness down the loo. More towel wrapping and water and suggestions to brush teeth. Meanwhile Husband & I "calmly & maturely discuss" who's work is more doable from home. Clearly Husband's is because he works off a laptop and phone and my work on a Tuesday is based in a school with the children who go to that school ("um, hi, would you mind bringing your 11year old down to Harringay? so sorry, my daughter is ill with the voms so I can't get into school but you're welcome to come to me!"). But Husband has important meetings and a complicated schedule to organise for a shoot he's on next week (Sardinia! 4* hotel! - is it really a shoot or is he off with that fancy bird from Bognor..?). After a bit of stroppy foot stamping Husband gathers his wits, wizzes into town and collects his work and wizzes back. What a champ.
As I leave the house at 10.45am, Mol has been sick on her feet, on the bathroom floor, in the downstairs loo, on the downstairs loo floor, all over her pj's, in her hair (woops, must wash it). I have just put on the 3rd round of washing. The house has that smell of disinfectant. Mol has a very sore tummy.
Just as I'm getting to the school my mob rings. "Do we have any more disinfectant? Mol has been sick in her bed..."