Church without mom

Even though my dad is a fervent advocate of bringing newborns out in public (especially to church) soon after their birth, I opted out of taking Lily to her first church meeting at the ripe old age of 6 days old. It was a good idea, too, because Lily ended up having a rotten night, and 9:00am came only a few hours after she finally bit the dust. And what was extra fortuitous was that I missed out on the little episode that happened at church.

We spent the weekend in Provo, so Mark got the older girls ready and took them to our old ward for the day of their Primary Program presentation. [They were excited to see my sister, Becca, the Primary chorister, in action!] On the way in, Sage noticed a little orange paintball in the grass and couldn't resist bringing it into the church with her. When Mark found her playing with it, he took it from her (thank goodness), and put it on the floor next to our diaper bag (darn it). Eliza, acting very much her two years of age, got bored soon into the meeting and began playing on the floor. It didn't take long before her eye caught the bright orange paintball, and she became engrossed with it. Like any good two year old, she felt she had to investigate all of its properties, and popped it in her mouth. When she told me later what happened, she called the paintball a "squishy ball." And, as anyone who has played paintball would know, paintballs are only "squishy" once they've been popped.

And that's exactly what happened when her little teeth pierced the capsule. The orange paint began seeping out of her mouth, and she gagged on the plastic capsule that remained in her mouth. Luckily Mark had cupped his hands under Eliza's chin to capture the escaping orange paint, so when the vomit started pouring out, he was able to catch most of the first few heaves. But Eliza kept gagging, and the vomit kept coming. And coming. You wouldn't believe that a little paintball the size of your pinky could cause seven rounds of vomit. But it did.

Along with half of the rest of the congregation, my brother-in-law, Jordan, noticed Eliza's little show and Mark's predicament. Fortunately Jordan had the presence of mind to grab Eliza's jacket, and came to Mark's rescue just as his hands were getting full (no pun intended). The jacket proved to be an effective barf bucket for Eliza's neon-orange regurgitated breakfast, and the boys rushed Eliza to the bathroom for a hose-down in the sink. She came back sporting a sweatshirt and track pants (intended for, but not limited to, accidents of a potty-training nature).

When Mark brought the girls back from church, I was shocked to see Eliza's new outfit. This is what I was told:
Sage: I found a little orange paintball outside the church.
Eliza: And I put the squishy ball in my mouth. And I choked.
Mark: Yeah. Seven times.

Apparently this is the kind of episode that makes it into email forwards and Sunday phone calls home to parents and grandparents, because my sister, Becca, got this email from my mom in Jerusalem.

Dear Becca, It was fun to talk to you the other day...even if you were sleep-deprived for the big program on Sunday. How did the Primary Program go? We rode with the Skinners today and they were telling me about a little "event" that happened during the middle of the Program. [Note from Janel: the Skinners' son and his family live in Becca's ward.] I guess a child got a toy stuck in his mouth and started to choke and gag. Then, according to their little granddaughter, "Chunks of stuff came flying out of his mouth!" Sounds pretty eventful! Ha! Love, Mom


My mom is one of my most ardent blog supporters. She always leaves me encouraging, sweet comments. That's how I know that she will get this message:

That barfing little boy was your granddaughter, Mom.