No travelogue but...

Since we didn't travel for the holiday this year, I can't write up one of my famous travelogues, but apparently it's not the traveling that causes barfing, it's simply holidays. There's nothing quite like being up to your arms in soapy dirty dishes when your child comes to you, holding her hands out, and says, "I was coughing and I barfed on the stairs." Apparently she tried to catch it as it happened (won't she be a good mom someday? Already trying to catch the elusive vomit!) and it was dripping from her hands and arms. So I left the dishes to scrub the stairs. ::sigh:: I'm trying not to take personally the fact that she urped up my first-ever turkey dinner. After all, it couldn't possibly be my cooking, right?! On the plus side, hosting the holiday at our house meant that we actually used our good china for the first time. We were given 14 place settings of it as wedding presents and it took us 13 years to use them. Could be that we are officially grown-ups now with all the adult-type stuff going on here lately (get your mind out of the gutter!).

Home again, home again

R. is home from her three day long field trip to Williamsburg, VA. I did the same field trip when I was in 7th grade so she has been looking forward to it and gloating that she got to do it so much younger than I did. I knew she'd have a good time although she was alternately thrilled and apprehensive about going without me (given my aversion to other people's children for extended periods of time, I didn't choose to chaperone).

So on Wed. morning at an appallingly early hour, I schlepped her and her things to the school. Somehow I was the only mom there still in her pj's (and some of them had hair and make-up done--I may never fit in here!!!). Luckily R. loves me even though I'm not a fashion plate, although I fully expect this to become a bone of contention as she heads into her teens in the next few years. I drugged her up with Dramamine (she's the orignial car-sick kid) and sent her on her way. After that, she was on her own. Apparently she had nightmares after the "haunted" Williamsburg tour (no surprise to me) and spent the night coughing. She enjoyed walking around the following day and said the woodworking was the most interesting. But her souvenir from the trip? Candy and a book. Now I know she's my kid! She was sweet enough to get her brothers each some candy and some Ghiradelli chocolate for me (she must have heard me talk about the Ghiradelli mile in the marathon). Sweet kid. :-) But that night she spent the night alternating between coughing and vomitting. How badly do I feel for her chaperone?! I wasn't called about it though so when I saw her get off the bus smiling tonight, I asked about the pillowcase-less pillow. Her answer was that it was in her bag. I was so focused on making sure she didn't get sick on the return trip (her chaperone had contraband Dramamine for her) that it never occurred to me to question why the pillowcase was in her bag and not on her pillow. Yup, she barfed all over it. Ironically, when the buses were delayed getting home tonight, I was crossing fingers that it wasn't because R. had been sick, causing everyone to have to stop while she was swabbed down. I can't decide if what happened is better or worse. I'd say only three girls know she was throwing up all night but if I remember girls that age, the entire grade knew about it within moments of them meeting up for breakfast the next morning.

I didn't go on the trip and yet I still have to wash nasty puke-y stuff. Ain't parenthood grand?! But I'm glad Barfing Betty is home and glad she feels fine now. Now to get flowers or something to apologize to K. for having to deal with my sick kid all night.

In which the author discovers that chocolate is bad

My sneaky children were not content to pilfer candy from the gigantic bowl on the counter in the kitchen. Oh no, they had to smuggle some of it up to their room, completely forgetting that the dog has a marvelously wonderful sense of smell coupled with no sense of self-preservation since her wonderful people tend to keep her safe from all harm. Result: all Halloween candy is being bagged up and given to the dance studio where there is a child doing a community service project (donating candy to a local hospital's children's wing). I can't risk yet another doggie projectile vomiting episode in my bedroom. Good thing the comforter is already ruined and the carpet came clean or I'd be skinning my children. As it is, I already contemplated making them sit at the kitchen table and eat candy until *they* barfed but I came to my senses before I commited myself to cleaning yet more yuck (which was of greater concern than the fact that forcing them to eat candy ad nauseum--literally--is probably child abuse).