The weekend of wonderful smells

We were at a picnic across the street Saturday when Zoe started complaining that her belly hurt. CAN'T BE, I thought. YOU JUST FINISHED AN ANTIBIOTIC.

Then suddenly, Jacob deposited his bottle onto their patio. By way of his stomach.

We hustled home in time for Zoe to throw up in her favorite puke bowl. It's actually my salad spinner, which gets no use whatsoever, so don't worry about ever eating salad at my house.



Jacob threw up a few more times that day, and few more times the next day, but I stopped counting how many times Zoe hurled. She set a record for herself.



He doesn't look sick, does he? But he's entertained watching his mother clean up his vomit from the floor, the wall, the dining room table and chairs...

Sunday night they seemed to be faring well. It looked like day care was a good possibility the next day. Monday morning came around, and I woke up to the alarm, and I thought, NO. NO.

THIS ISN'T HAPPENING.

I summoned Zoe, who brought me the bucket. Two more days of fun, only this time it was my turn.