Lovely day we've had here. I can sum it up by saying I've already scheduled Stanley Steemer to come over on Monday. If you can handle the detail, read on.
One of the downsides of having a non-talking two-year-old is that they can't tell you what's wrong when they don't feel good. I knew Kiddle seemed off this morning but I didn't know what was bothering him until I gave him his morning milk ... and he projectile vomited it all over the couch and oriental rug five minutes later.
And then on the dining room rug. And back to the couch and living room rug. And of course with a trail of puke across the hardwood floor as we tried to get him to the kitchen. And let me tell you, milk curdles awfully quickly after ingestion. Gross.
So my house smells like barf. I've done multiple loads of laundry. And my kid is begging me for a cracker in between episodes of WordWorld.
But I'll have a clean couch on Monday! And, trust me, it's long overdue thanks to peanut butter hands and leaking sippy cups.
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