So today we were supposed to take the kids to the beach.
7 am I am up after a nap of literally 20 minutes. I couldn’t sleep, and some guys are coming to trim stuff around the house because Mother Nature, aided by the Chuthulian gods of brambles and other weeds are threatening to envelop us all like bugs in a Venus Flytrap.
The 4 year old comes to the bed to snuggle alongside the baby who’s having a feed.
She’s looking subdued and sad/grumpy. Says she has stomach ache. Then the 6 year old comes up too. Also not feeling well.
This is when the centrally placed 4 years old imitated Old Faithful in Yellowstone and geysers up coagulated milk and projectile vomit straight up from her lying down position.
Werner Von Braun would have been impressed.
I shower the found smelling goat-cheese consistency gunk off me and her and the wife bundles up the bed sheets.
By the end of the day two or three more projectile vomits have taken place. The boy, neat as always did it all in his little bucket. Stoic, no complaining.
The girl, as always, did it wherever she stood or lay. In fairness, also stoic.
So that was our beach day…
Maybe in the next few days… Assuming cholera doesn’t get us first!
This post was originally published on my Substack. Link here
