C is currently a Pukey Person. Poor little dear. She was considerate enough to confine the mess mainly to her sheets and blanket. We’ll see how Bunny survives the washing machine.

Everyone keep your fingers crossed that this was a one-time thing, because we’re supposed to leave Saturday for a week. Oh, and please let it be a one-person thing, although I’m sorry she’s the one.

She was right near perky afterward, which makes me think that it was a one-off. But my husband and I did have a little chuckle in spite of ourselves. She kept talking about how her “elbow hurt” and was holding her arm. Weeks ago she bonked her arm, Daddy “kissed it and made it better,” and ever since then, any and all ouchies are located in the arm. Bonks her head? It’s the arm. Trips and falls? Arm again. Pukey? Must be that pesky arm.

Then a few minutes later she said “tummy hurt.” Poor little trooper, making cognitive leaps even in the midst of indigestion.

For some reason, as I picked the chunks out of the pile of sheets before throwing the whole mess in the washing machine, I found myself humming the song “The Things We Do for Love,” and realizing, hmm, not so idyllic, that song.