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Archer isn’t feeling great.

He actually has been under the weather for a few weeks, but today, Marisa had time to take him to the clinic. Aside from a head cold, Arch has an ear infection.

So she took him to the mall, first to get the prescription filled, and then I would meet up with them and we’d have some supper at the food court.

Ris got some Thai soup. I got some ramen and some chicken teriyaki, as I was hedging my bets as to what Arch would like to eat.

He does not want to eat. His tummy hurts and he is not hungry. We try to coax him into a few bites, but he’s adamant. In the end, we figure he’s had a tough day and we let him have some OJ, figuring that we can get him a snack once we get home.

After a few sips, he scoots over to Ris and wants to cuddle her.

Then he projectile-vomits. All. Over. Ris.

Movie special effect style. It was spectacular.

Two ladies from housekeeping happen to be walking by as he hurls, and hurls, and hurls again. Archer and Marisa are both soaked with Archer-puke.

What do you do? What do you do when your wife and son are soaked to the bone in vomit in the middle of the food court? There is no parenting book that has a cute little mnemonic to deal with a situation like this. What to expect when your family is puke-juicy in the food court is not a book I’ve ever seen.

I, of course, offer up my napkin. Marisa is stunned by the gesture and its lack of any use.

We take a minute to just try and parse what has happened. We have no experience to draw on here. The two housekeeping ladies are super chill. They go get the mop guy and are reassuring. I take Archer to the men’s room. He was wearing splash pants, so his joggers underneath are unscathed. His tee is a mess.

He says “I’m sorry I throwed up everywhere. Please wash my t-shirt.”

I’m staying very zen somehow, I think because if I freak out, he’ll freak out.

I wash him up and dry him off under the high-powered hand dryer. I have his sweater in my bag, so he puts that on with no shirt underneath, but it itches him. I rinse off his boots and dry them too. Yay for men’s rooms with changing stations, but boo for no paper towels. Archer is very concerned for his t-shirt and makes sure I rinse it out and take it with us.

We go back to the table, and somehow, Marisa has cleaned up. Wonder Woman, I swear. She had a spare sweater too. The mop guy is there and the table is all tidy too. What dark magic just happened?

I leave the kiddo with the wifey, as I MUST go get Archer a t-shirt to wear under his sweater or deal with 45 minutes of unending whine until we get home. Winners. 10$. Size 5 “DC Shoes” tee, and it looks cool. We cut the tags off and put it on the kiddo. As our appetites our gone, I toss the food in the nearest bin.

Archer says he’s hungry.

Yes. After all that, he wants something to eat.

We take the metro home, and he’s generally non-plussed by the whole affair. We walk in the house and Archer gets a bath. Ris spends 30 minutes in the shower. He gets cartoons and grilled cheese, and he’s up 2 hours past his bed-time. (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Pokemon, if you’re wondering.)

What’s your Friday night plan?

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