11/28/12
This afternoon I was in a great mood. Miles had been insane since we were cooped up in the house due to the rain, but was chillin' hard in the car listening to some old Sam Cooke while we drove to pick up Isla from school. We got there early, she was in her cooking class where they read a book, then cook something related - this time it was pigs in a blanket. I glanced in the window of her preschool room and noticed her sitting happily at the table with the kids waiting for the food to be served. So, Miles and I walked around for awhile in the drizzling rain, checking out the playground and some little sculptures. When I went back to check if the kids were done, I noticed through the window that Isla wasn't sitting at the little table, and the teacher was frantically waving me in. Turns out, Isla had thrown up all over the table, which didn't seem to deter the rest of the kids, who were contentedly chowing on their pastry-wrapped hotdogs. I went over to the bathroom, and there was isla, getting a new outfit courtesy of her teacher from the lost and found box. She was a little green, and said her tummy hurt, so I gave her a big hug and said we'd go home, get some 7 up and some soda crackers and curl up in front of a movie.
In the car, I gave her a plastic bag and said if her mouth felt funny, to hold it open and throw up inside there. Now I don't know about you, but throwing up for me is an intense experience, there's tears and snot and heaving and "no, no, no nonononononono's" right before the eruption of stomach contents. This is not true for Isla, who apparently can puke mid-sentence, then continue once the convulsion is over. She threw up in the bag, then, proud of her accomplishment, told me that she did so, only to have her sentence interrupted by a huge spewing of dried mango and yogurt, that missed the bag completely and probably filled the entire carseat. This was my day.
Don't worry, Isla's fine.
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