Arun was sick last night. Not just a little bit sick but a lot. Half way through his pudding of apricot yoghurt, he let out a little cough and then did his little impression of Linda Blair in the Exorcist. First a little bit came up. Then a lot more. Then a whole lot more. Where it all came from is a mystery to me because he had certainly not eaten that much for tea.
Meri, who was sitting next to him at the table looked non-plussed, “Arun’s poorly.” She said, “Arun’s being sick.”
She is quite used to her brother throwing up because Arun suffers from reflux as a consequence of his cerebral palsy. Sometimes we can tell when Arun is going to be sick and can distract him by making bouncing noises which he finds hilarious. Not this time though. It had all happened so quickly that there was no time to react and the table, the floor and my jeans bore the brunt of it.
This morning, we were sitting down at the kiddy table again but for breakfast. Meri had her plate of toast and her cup of milk in front of her. Arun was sat next to her and I was feeding him his Weetabix.
All of a sudden Arun let out a cough. Meri gave me a sideways, quizzical look and then looked at Arun. Whilst keeping her beady eye in him she subtly moved her toast to one side.
Arun coughed again. Meri kept him under close surveillance and this time moved her milk to one side, out of splatter range. She then started making “boinging” noises to distract Arun.
Arun grinned and went back to watching TV, crisis averted. I on the other hand laughed out aloud. Meri’s reaction had delighted me. Faced with a potentially hazardous scenario she had responded expertly. She had first minimised the risk of damage before moving in to defuse the situation: textbook crisis management.
I understand that we are all going to be electing Police Commissioners in November. I think I may have an outstanding candidate on my hands.
