So, Drew and I decided to take the kids out for breakfast this morning. A nice, fun, special family outing, we thought. We found a good, informal, but different (i.e. not IHOP) place where M could get his sunny side up egg with bacon and toast, a must for a first-rate breakfast in M's mind.
And it was a tasty breakfast for all of us. Boo had a giant chocolate chip pancake, which she really enjoyed, but didn't finish, so all of us helped and ate the rest off her plate and M finished her bacon.
So far, sounds like a nice, boring excursion, hardly worthy of a blog post, yes?
But wait, there's more.
About halfway through breakfast, just about the time Boo had finished all she was going to eat, she began fussing and wanting to get down and just being miserable. We finished up, Drew went to the front to pay for our delicious breakfast and left me the car keys while I bundled Boo into her jacket so we could go on out to the car. Only that's not how it happened. While I wrestled Boo into her jacket, she continued fussing until, as I pointed her to the door, she barfed up most of her breakfast all over the restaurant floor. Oh, yes. Poor Boo. So I caught the eye of a waitress and told her about it and tried to clean Boo and her mess up as best I could without grossing out other patrons. Drew came back in and asked, "What happened?"because I had not made it out to the car, and I had the keys, remember?
So, now the anticipation sets in. Was it just that she was too full of sweetness and bacon and out of her element, or is it something more sinister? We all ate off her plate. So, while Boo is playing happily right now and seems fine, I keep thinking, "Is my stomach really feeling queasy, or is it just the power of suggestion?" And every sigh or groan or frown from one of the boys has me cringing and asking, "Are you okay?" I'm so not good with body fluids. Don't you hate that kind of anticipation?