Seriously, it is always something

/

It was with a lovely sense of "yay, school has resumed, we're back in schedule-action" that I dropped the boys off this morning. I came home, eager to spend a quiet morning addressing holiday cards, clean up some and just relax. Bang.

Two hours in, and I get the call: Oliver is throwing up at school. I raced over to find my little darling hugging the porcelain god, so sweetly and tidily I am proud to say. We headed home by way of CVS to get Gatorade; on the way, he threw up again, tidily again, in a bag. We got cleaned up, he had some Gatorade and toast, watched some Bob (the flipping Builder) and then suddenly declared himself "so much better."

"Ok," said I, "let's run to the market for some bananas and smoothie stuff." No sooner had we left our neighborhood than did projectile vomiting commence. My car looks like Pulp Fiction was filmed inside it.

I cleaned what I could but Ol needed to get back inside so now we're chilling in the bathroom together.

Have decided to ignore cold, on tap for dinner

/

I am, at this point, so flipping annoyed with my snorting and other cold manifestations that I have decided to pretend it doesn't exist. To the best of my abilities. I fully intend to have a glass of cold white tonight as we will be enjoying fresh Pacific cod and a fennel/Meyer lemon/green olive/garlic dish I'm currently concocting in my head. Don't these ingredients look lovely?!

As I believe I mentioned, Jack's school called midday; he felt sick and wanted me to come. I hurried over, and within five minutes of picking him felt sure he was half-faking. He is totally pooped, this is true, and doesn't have school until next Monday, so I didn't much mind, but I must say that at this point I'm feeling a little talked out as he and Ol have NOT been meek ones this afternoon. PLEASE GO TO BED. I swear to you that if I hear any from a handful of words (all scatological in nature, really), I'm going to start spinning like the Tasmanian devil. Oh, and no they're trying to pick each other's noses. Jesus. What happened to the overabundance of knock-knock jokes? At this point, I might accept those back.