Juma = coolest son ever

warning: gross bodily functions feature heavily in this post

Juma woke us up in the middle of the night. As it was my turn, I slid out of bed and followed his pitiful voice calling me. I found him in the bathroom, already over the toilet, informing me he needed to throw up. I stayed with him while he aimed for the toilet, and made sure the vomit-session was passed before taking him back to his bedroom.

He said, "I'll sleep on the bottom bunk now, so I can get to the bathroom fast if I have to throw up again."

"Great thinking, bud," I said. "I'll get you a bowl, just in case you can't make it to the bathroom."

Three hours later, he woke us again for another session, and since it was nearly 7am, I stayed with him on the bottom bunk. He put his arm around my neck and smiled. "I'm just waiting for it to get more light outside."

I thought to myself, "What a considerate, mature kid to race to the toilet first, then call for Mom and Dad."

I remembered one time when I was sick as a kid, much older than Juma. For some reason (something about how people turn into complete wimps who want to be pampered when they are sick), I felt I needed to inform my mom I was about to throw up before I went to the toilet to throw up. The result? Vomit all up and down the hallway carpet, on the bathroom floor, and on the toilet seat. And a little in the toilet. Good job, Sarah.

I also remember my dad kneeling there in the hallway, cleaning supplies in hand, hesitating.

"What are you doing?" my mom asked as she ushered me past him.

"Just preparing myself to clean this up," he answered, steeling himself against the inevitable gagging.

Thank you, Juma, for being on the ball.

Sorry, Dad, for the mess.