We are supposed to be grateful for the little things, you know: stop and smell the flowers; count your blessings; etc.. As a parent I often find myself grateful for the smelly, projectile, runny things. When you have a child that has the stomach flu it is nearly unavoidable that you will find appreciation for the rancid muck that is expelling itself from the small body of your innocent wee one. For example: I am grateful for the precious doll of Teilee’s that was just missed by the putrid stream of vomit. I am thankful for the viscosity of the puke that allowed it to be a congealed mixture instead of runny and watery. (Runny would have meant the spread of the mess downward and outward and even onto the hand woven blanket that is difficult to wash.) I am so appreciative that one of the occasions, and possible the largest volume of substance, was gifted to us in the middle of the night before Nick had gone to work. (Taking a shower, cleaning the bed, washing the baby is a much easier task to handle when there are two adults.) The most gratitude I have is for the health and well being of the rest of the family. It is a near impossible task to be throwing up and tending to the vomiting of another tiny person. And while chances are slim that this bug will bypass the rest of us, it is much easier to handle the smallest first and independently. He requires the most cleaning up after, the most holding, the most care and concern. This is where I find my gratitude for the day: in the rank, gooey, nasty, somewhat chunky, mess that my sweet adorable baby is mustering up from his stomach contents to disperse over any and every surface possible.