Where I Underestimated Her Sorcery

So here's a lesson from me to you:  don't mock your child on the internet.  The internet is a sneeky little thing.  Apparently it sent its' peeps to my sweet little Rosebud and informed her of the "fake cry" post I recently made and well...she doesn't take things lightly.
The girls have been sick for the last week and a half (I blame all the evil parents who bring their sick kids to the children's museum, and then text away while their germy little spawns sneeze on everyone, but that's a whole different tangent).  Yes, I like to lay blame when my kids get sick.  It helps me cope. 
So, needless to say, we've been cooped up in the house for a good while (because I don't take my kids out to child filled public places when THEY are sick!  And I'm done).  I decided to take them on a nice long stroller walk around the neighborhood to get some much needed vitamin D.  This was a few days ago when it was warm.  I went on a longer path than usual cause Mama needed some exercise.  At the furthest possible point on the walk, and in front of the only group of kids/Moms that we had passed, Rosa decided to projectile vomit.  Yes, she DECIDED to.  At that moment. For revenge.  Don't underestimate her.  And I'm not talking your run-of-the-mill projectile vomiting.  I'm talking thunderous amounts exploding on everything in a 5 ft. radius.  Herself, me, the stroller, some unfortunate person's yard.  All to the chorus of "eeeewwww" and "gggrrrroooooosssss" coming from the kids across the street.  I could actually feel the other Mom's eyes of judgement beaming down on me.  I cannot believe that woman would bring her vomiting child to our neighborhood.  My children would never do that.  I taught Kiki and Blake to hold it in when they were 6 months old. 
I don't know about you, but when I'm dealing with that much goo, I have an internal struggle with the nurturing instinct to pick her up and hug and comfort her, mixed with the save-myself instinct of holding her as far away from me as my arms can reach, letting her spew forth into the grass.  After doing a little of both, I took off her top layers, cleaned her up with the inside of my now ruined fleece, swung her onto my hip and took off like a banchee running down the sidewalk pushing Emmy in the stroller with one hand and holding my 26 lb. bundle of joy in the other.  That lasted about 1/2 a mile at which point I thought I was going to black out.  Despite her protest I wrapped her in a blanket and buckled her into her blueberry bagel vomit seat and took off, head down, just trying to get home as quickly as possible.  Oh hi neighbor...can't stop...vomit...out..of...breath...tell ... later...
Do you know what it feels like to have your hands vomit-glued to the spongey handle of a stroller?  I do. 

Practicing her voodoo on the innocent.