I’ve been officially inaugurated into the Kindergarten Teacher profession: I had my first experience with a kid throwing up. June, who has been balancing several romances in the class, showed up to class lethargic and despondent. Her Mother told me she had been ‘touch and go’ all morning, but that she wasn’t buying the ‘I’m sick’ act–which I totally understood, I hardly believe anything that comes out of these kids’ mouths when it comes to illnesses or wounds. (Side note: Imagine my surprise when I taught in a 2-3 classroom where kids actually tell the truth about their physical well-being. One boy leaned on a piece of fabric I was using and yelped, “I cut myself!” I responded in my usual way, “Oh, you’re FINE.” The kid held up his bleeding finger and the staple that had punctured him. I immediately sent him off to the office for an extensive peek and a band-aid). Mom thought June might be sad because a particular baby-sitter is leaving the family. Anyway, June toiled around with her work all morning, her eyes wet and glassy.
I was right in the middle of editing a sentence for a kid when June flew into my lap and frantically mumbled something into my pants. Man, I was such an idiot. I couldn’t hear her so I said, “Hang on, I’m editing a sentence, I’ll be right with you….hang on.” I couldn’t really hear what she was saying until she gasped, “I’m going to throw up RIGHT NOW.” I grabbed her by the shoulders and we ran to our bathroom–which was locked and occupied. So we ran into another classroom where I flung open the closet door thinking it was the bathroom…luckily, I steered her into the correct room just in time: All over the bathroom floor. The poor kid didn’t even make the toilet bowl, but she did nail the seat. Right after it happened she said, “There, OK, now we can clean that up…OK.” She looked deathly pale, the kind of sickly green you only read about, and if you’re unlucky, experience. I brushed her hair away, gave her a cold, wet, paper towel, and asked her if she needed to stay by the toilet a little longer. It was awkward, my heart was pounding, and my own stomach was lurching. Selfishly, I was thinking: I’m concerned about a recent bout of pinworm that’s going around and now I have to add vomiting to the list? June tried to tell me she was fine and she could go back to class. I told her she wasn’t fine and we were calling her Mom. I parked her in the sick room with a book and a garbage can. Another little boy from another classroom showed up with the same glassy look– turns out it was only the beginning of a big stomach flu epidemic.
I felt obligated to inform the mother of one of June’s boyfriends–largely because she spends a lot of time hugging him around the neck, tugging on his hoodie until he chokes, and pouring sand down his shirt. Honestly, it’s only a matter of time before this boy pukes as a result of June’s touchy feely love. Mom responded appropriately, “Not the stomach flu!” She immediately launched into a story about the time both she and her son were sick and they threw up side by side into the toilet all night long. I’m always somewhat appalled when parents tell me these sort of war stories; It makes having children seem really gross and icky, like, who wants to get puked on?