The letter of the day is V, for vomit

Last night was a normal night. Husband went out with the boys, so the kids and I headed out to dinner. We went to O'Charley's for the delicious rolls. I ate several, but Buddha was packing them away. The boy loves carbs, and he loves butter. I caught him licking the little butter container and scolded him for gluttony... then I used my roll to scrape the last remnants of buttery goodness from the thingy. Aren't we all such hypocrites?
2:30am rolls around and I'm dead to the world. He comes in my room, which is not unheard of. I assume it's a typical "I gotta go pee pee" alert. I tell him to head to the potty and he informs me that "I don't need to go pee pee." Odd. I am following him to the bathroom when I step in something wet. And slippery. And completely soaked in to my carpet. It's brownish yellow and it's cold and I'm in no state of mind for this.
Buddha then looks at me with his big brown eyes and says "I don't feel good." Then he vomits all over the bathroom floor.
So now I'm wondering... if his vomit is here, what did I just step in? I clean him up and start the cleaning process on the carpet. It's dog food. The big dog has an upset tummy too.
So the rest of the night goes something like this: Buddha vomits in my bed, but fortunately on the towel I was making him sleep with. He hurls into a bucket a few times. Big dog tosses her cookies AGAIN, but in a much bigger pile and right next to a pile of laundry. I picked the laundry up and felt cold and slippery goo. I hate finding surprises that are cold, wet, and slippery.

Today I took him to the doctor. I'm to embarassed to type out the details, but the final conclusion was that he did not have a stomach bug like I feared. He actually just ate too much butter. If only Paula Deen were my pediatrician, I bet I wouldn't have felt like a total Fatty McFatterson.