I remember when I was a little girl in school my friend Harla and I wrote a play for reading class called “Maggot Rice”. The script was just as disgusting as it sounds. The play was complete with a bag of fake vomit (truly inspired) and ghastly wrenching sounds and was the hit of the school. Super funny stuff!
When it’s your kid, especially the one who can’t even talk, it’s far less funny: gross yes, vaguely reminiscent of clam chowder (except with chunks of orange in it) yes – disgustingly clumpy and all over my clothes and foot, yes. Scary, yes. Funny? No.
You panic and worry. You feel horrible for them and helpless. Watching anything bad happen to a child is terrifying.
As you might guess, my son got ill tonight. He seems better and is sleeping peacefully. I will undoubtedly be lying in bed, awake and listening for much of the night.
What I find truly frightening is what actually just went through my mind while cleaning up the mess. I started thinking:
I feel I may have reached a new parenting low. Children’s programming has taken over my mind.
The Mischief of Minions 
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