Lucas puked. That’s where it began. In his bed, the middle of the night. Changing PJs, stripping the bed, two loads of laundry. More the next day. Then he recovered. Next night the bucket switched sides after Abigail ralphed all over her bed and carpet. Stripped the bed and the jammies. Put on the new and BAM, it happened again. Leaving us without a choice. Abigail climbed into bed with us and the bucket. Then our covers and bedding, stripping beds. Happy Birthday Phil. Me? Puking in the bucket with the ‘rhea, dying. Today is torture.