|So doing this next Halloween|
I know I promised to be back, but about ten minutes after I hit publish I heard a desperate whine from the bathroom. I ran in just in time to see Sienna standing in front of the toilet, hear her say “Mommy, I feel like I’m going to be sick!” and then turn her head away from the toilet and vomit spectacularly all over the rug, the walls, the floor and the shower.
It was so special.
It was also weird, because she’d been eating fine and acting fine all morning, she had no fever, and after she threw up she showed no signs of being sick. I was trying to re-trace what she had eaten to figure out if something could have made her sick when I realized that she had drank quite a bit of milk that morning. I picked up the nearly empty carton, which we had opened for dinner the night before, subtracted the four sippy cups Charlotte and Liam had consumed in between dinner and breakfast, and was horrified to realize that Sienna had basically drank most of the gallon herself in the three hours since she’d been awake.
Lessons learned: 1) pay attention to how much milk your kid is drinking if you don’t want to spend the next hour cleaning up puke, and 2) the gallon challenge cannot be won.
I put a moratorium on milk for the rest of the day and the next for her, and she’s fine now. She was fine ten minutes afterward, actually, but I kept her inside for two days anyway because I didn’t want her to get the neighborhood kids sick, if she was sick. Today she can play outside, and I’m not sure which of us is happier about that.
Yesterday we had our neighbors over for dinner and in a fit of whimsy I attempted my first-ever cheesecake.
I used a recipe from Smitten Kitchen, even though I’ve had inconsistent results with her recipes before, because it contained massive amounts of cream cheese and didn’t require me to bake it in a water bath. Despite early alarm at the quick browning of the top, it was a smashing success. It really was delicious, and had the most perfect flavor, courtesy of orange and lemon zest. Yum. And the best part is, our neighbors weren’t really big dessert-eaters, so there’s over half of the cheesecake left! Hello, lover.
(What can I say? I’m pregnant.)
|I beg to disagree, Frontenac Baptist Church|
It’s hot here. It’s really hot. It’s so hot that we’re already having to run the A/C nearly 24/7, and my ankles are starting to swell well before my third trimester. (I’m blaming the temperature, not the cheesecake, and don’t tell me any differently!)
Yesterday, my lovely neighbor said to me, “I hope you don’t think this is hot. This is not hot. It will get so hot this summer that you will send your children outside to play and they will come back five minutes later, having melted.”
Kill. Me. Now.
Luckily the flies here are trying to do just that. Get this: the flies in Southwest Florida bite.
What. The. Hell.
No, really. I didn’t know such creatures existed, but they do, and now instead of merely being annoyed and slightly grossed out by flies, I have to also be in pain because of them.
And those little suckers can bite. For real. It’s not lingering pain, like a fire ant bite, but it frakking hurts and they are everywhere, so you don’t get bit by one at a time, and there’s no way to avoid them. Basically if you go outside near dusk or after dark or in the morning or at all, you’re going to come back in covered in welts and cursing like a sailor.
Note to self: swamps were considered uninhabitable in decades past for a reason.
Even Laura Ingalls Wilder, that hardiest of hardy pioneer girls, was freaked out by Florida. She and Almanzo moved to Westville, FL to improve Laura’s health, but they were so miserable in the heat and humidity and she was so afraid of snakes and her redneck, backwoods neighbors that they moved back north pretty quickly. And during the months they did spend in Florida, Laura insisted on carrying a gun everywhere, mostly because of the neighbors, not the snakes.
Know what that means? I’m tougher than Half-Pint! Hurrah. Something I never thought I would be able to say.
I bet she didn’t whine as much as I do, though, but in my defense, she had a gun and got to shoot things and I don’t.
|I kept hoping Ma Ingalls would show up and say, “Laura, the sun will make your cleavage all leathery! Put those puppies away, in this handy high-necked blouse I just whipped up for you.”|
Speaking of Laura Ingalls Wilder, was anyone else scarred for life by Melissa Gilbert’s presence on Dancing with the Stars? I only watched a few episodes of the season, but it was painful.
I feel that I can never go back and watch old Little House episodes again, knowing that buck-toothed little Laura will grow up to dance in age-inapproprately-skimpy outfits, cry like a 5 year old when she thinks Maks (who is mean to everyone) is being mean to her, and make extremely awkward and creepy cougar-ish comments about Maks and his brother.
Thanks a lot, Dancing with the Stars. You’re systematically ruining my childhood memories, one iconic and desperately aging actor at a time.
Go see Jen for more quick takes, and have a lovely weekend!