I am writing this while continuously glancing over towards
the couches to see if my 3-year old - who is wrapped in a red wool IKEA blanket
and slouched over a large, orange mixing bowl while watching Special Agent Oso
on Disney Junior – is getting ready to vomit. After a long, rough night that
involved a lot of sheet changing (why is it that my children always have to
throw up in MY bed?), washer & dryer, and holding bowls while rubbing
little shaking, crying bodies, I just fed Abraham a piece of toast, and I’m
waiting to see if it will come up or not. The water he drank a little while ago has still to make its reappearance, so I'm cautiously hopeful.
I’m also listening for my 10-year old, who is in one of the
bathrooms, to see if he’ll need any help. He spent a fair amount of last night
on a toilet, poor boy. At least he is too big to be vomiting in my bed.
It’s gorgeous outside; sunny with a blue, clear sky, warm
but not too hot, and everything is green and in bloom with flowers in sparkling
colors anywhere you look. I hear happy kids playing in the playground, and the soothing
sound of waves coming from the sea in the background. What a perfect day it
would have been for a family Mediterranean outing. Sigh.
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