Barf

I have not needed to send my daughter out into the cold again, but I do have a lovely story for you.
I was recently awoken at about 3 a.m. by a small child letting out blood-curdling screams from her bedroom. I jump, run across the hall and find her sitting a the edge of her bed screaming "My sock came off!" I'm not a whole lot of fun in the middle of the night when I have been awoken from a dead sleep. I shoved some new socks on her feet (ones with better elastic) and told Ruthie that she was never, ever, ever to wake me up for something that ridiculous again. She was only to wake me up for emergencies, real, real emergencies. Fast forward three days. It is Benny's day to get up with the children. I arrive downstairs in time for him to take a shower and find Ruthie shirtless in the living room, where she announces "I throwed up on my shirt." Benny clarifies that her pajama shirt was covered in vomit when she got out of bed. I go up to her room to see what the story is and it ids evident by the several well-spaced pools of vomit that Ruthie has thrown up several times during the night but didn't come get me, likely out of fear, and the fact that she didn't know that vomiting was considered an emergency. Oops.