Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Meeting my brother and Amanda, Caleb and Sam at the park for kite flying made for a perfect afternoon, until this guy almost broke his coccyx flying down a slide (No Uncle Rico jokes, please). He has since spent most of his awake time standing up:
And if you don't know who Uncle Rico is, see Napoleon Dynamite.
Sadly, a park visit on a Saturday can lead to your child vomiting on a Monday. Seriously, there should be warning signs at park entrances to that effect. You know that friend you have whose house is pristinely clean, almost hospital sterile (I know, I'm insanely jealous, too)? While having dinner there last night, Ian started rocking from side to side. My head was spinning. I knew what was coming. Sure enough--vomit--ALL OVER her bathroom, her perfectly white walls and immaculate white rug. I've never seen so much nastiness in all my life. Why there?!!
Needless to say, after 45 minutes of intense scrubbing on my part, my diseased crew and I promptly exited the premises. I'm sorry Robin!
Soooo . . . last night Ian vomited over and over again--one of those scary nights when you pray for God to protect your child, to hold him in His hands, because he can't even keep a sip of water down.
Flown any kites lately?