A quick cleaning tutorial : Dog Vomit

If you're like me, you've been in that situation of hearing a dog start to hork something up, only to be too slow in getting them out into the back yard.

If you're not like me you are VERY LUCKY!!!

Today I had the great pleasure of being on the phone when the boy dog decided to start working something up in the kitchen.  And of course, I was too late.

So I wanted to take a quick minute to share how I've learned to clean up dog vomit without vomiting myself.

First, get a huge stack of paper towels.  At least 5-6 thick.  The bigger the mess, the more towels.  20 layers is not out of the question.  Don't worry...trees and being environmentally friendly are nothing when liquids that come out of pets are part of the equation.

I took a couple pictures with my phone to illustrate.  Don't worry, I didn't take a picture of "it."

Then, take a plastic grocery bag and lay the wad of paper towels inside.

Now, hand this and a bottle of spray cleaner to your husband and say "have fun...you're the one who wanted dogs..."

OK, yeah...our dogs only barf when my husband is at work, too.

So take the vomit removal tool you just built and flip it over on the nasty spot.  Pinch it up and wipe around a little to remove the offending puddle.  Tie it up and pretend that it's not stomach contents you're carrying around.

Now, spray with some cleaner, wipe, and wash your hands with bleach.

Viola!

...

HEADing for trouble

It was a normal Saturday.  Much like the last few weeks, the girls and I were trying to stay out of the way of one of the many tradesmen who were currently setting up residence...I mean...beautifying our home.

I had managed to get some soup on the stove, half of which was to be delivered to a friend who had just gotten out of the hospital, and decided to let the girls play in the backyard for a bit while one of the painters was working in the living room.

Everyone was running around, kicking soccer balls and giggling, so I decided to look up my friends' number and give her a call to set up a time to drop by with dinner.  I pulled my phone out and Jamison ran by almost tripping over the edge of the porch.  I could see her running up toward the screen door that the big girls had ripped off.  It was currently leaning against the stationary side of the sliding glass door.

Then, it was like everything slowed down.  I spun around and in 1/10th time, tried to run toward her.  Picture the Matrix...you know, the scene where Neo is bending backward avoiding bullets.  Only I was spinning, reaching, knowing she would go right through.  She put her hands out in front of her as though she was going to use them to bounce back from the screen.  And after thinking back, I think she did actually bounce...well, at least I think her head bounced.

She fell forward, through the screen, and her arms just were not strong enough to hold her.  And if you haven't guessed by now, I didn't make it in time to save her.  I made it in time to jerk her up and see the blood pouring from her head.  She screamed out and began to cry.

And then...well, I can only describe this in the same way I remember it...try to keep up.

Big girls saw blood...screams from all of them began


I carried Jamison inside, blood dripping, big girls still screaming, me gently hushing, smiling, trying to remain calm and calm others.  


The painter walked into the kitchen, someone yelled "she fell!"


The painter turned white.  I think he might have sworn quietly in Hungarian, then said "Oh, my _ _ _.  Can I do anything?"


I am trying unsuccessfully to call Jason to come home so I can get her to the ER, a writhing baby and slippery hands prevented it.  I place the phone on the counter, trying to hold a bloody wet paper towel to Jamison's head, while telling the painter..."It's OK, probably just one stitch and we are fine..." Dialing, waiting, "Hello?" he says.  I respond with something like, "Jayma fell, busted her head, come home."  "OK, be right there."


I was now spreading blood further in the kitchen, it was all over the floor, my arm, Jamison...I'm blotting, searching the freezer for an ice pack...nothing!  Realizing the ice packs were in the freezer in the garage.  Mental note...bad place for them...


Dripping blood into garage.  Girls still screaming, asking if she will live...more fake smiling, gentle hushing becomes a bit louder.  Jamison still crying and every time I try to blot the blood off her face, she gets more upset and the blood flows freely again.  "Why don't you girls help clean the blood off the floor?"


Freezer contents are hitting the floor with the blood.  ICE PACK!  Hallelujah!!  Awestruck painter.  Screaming daughters.  "She will be fine!" More fake smiling.


I get back in the kitchen, grab a kitchen towel and actually think, "I don't want this ruined with blood!" So I grab another handful of paper towels.  


I'm now wrestling a 19 month old baby...determined not to be touched by ice.  Jason walks in.  How long was that?  2 minutes?  How fast did he drive?


I tossed the useless icepack to the side, grabbed...everything I could get my hands on to take with me to the ER.  Wiping the blood off...baby in the car...we're off.  


Phone calls to interested parties, explaining there would be no dinner delivered, being asked by 10 people the same two questions:
"How did it happen?"
"Did she lose consciousness?"

I really do not remember much from that evening.  I was tired.  I was really tired.

And I remember thinking...

No matter how hard I try, I cannot protect my children from everything.

But I will still try.  I'm Mom.



...