My crazy curse

This past weekend I got to enjoy time away, by myself, to see my dear friend Stephanie marry a true, bona fide, 10 gallon hat, big belt buckle, cowboy boot, amazingly large mustache wearing cowboy.

I made the journey out to Colorado late Friday night and was back in no time flat on Sunday afternoon. My re-entry into the family went fine. My mother even brought over dinner after dropping CT off from a birthday party.

The long day drew to a close. Everyone was tucked nicely into their beds to get a good night sleep so we would all be rested for our upcoming week.

Then at 12:15 am CT woke me up to tell me his stomach hurt.
Then at 1:37 am CT woke me up to tell me he needed a bucket.
Then at 2:12 am CT filled the bucket with barf and proceeded to fill most of the toilet bowl as well.
Then at 2:32 am CT came back down to get out the rest of the lingering bile that was left in his stomach.

This story seems vaguely familiar to the last time I left for a little get-a-way.

What am I doing to deserve this?

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