"Why, why, why(!) does this always happen in the middle of the night?!"
"Oh, gross, Twizzlers."
"At least it landed on the linoleum."
"If I left this for morning, would it be more disgusting, or less?"
"Seriously? It had to drip back here to the toilet paper? It was nearly a full roll! Why can't those kids keep the paper on the wall mount? Hmm, I wonder if the toilet paper will wipe up the puke....nope. What a waste. And they call themselves absorbent."
and then the conversation begins
"Surely, God, there's an easier way to get me to mop the bathroom floor."
Obviously not, Jamie, you had company over tonight and it didn't even push you to get out the broom.
"Too true. Too true."
(What? You're telling me God isn't sarcastic with you?)
And then after I've climbed back into my bed, hoping that sticky wet substance on my feet is Lysol disinfectant wipes and not puke....
"Oh, good grief, I didn't even so much as touch Eldest to console him."
I handed him clean clothes. I handed him a drink. I handed him a bowl to puke in. I did not hug the child.
The guilt, it gets you every time.