Was it because it’s a Monday?  Or because it’s mid-August and everyone is ready for the heat to subside?  I don’t know why, but as they say tritely, “It was one of those days.”

This folks, is a picture of Holden enjoying a vanilla milkshake, mere seconds before throwing up all over himself, the table, the chair, me, the stroller, and the patio at our local florist/ice cream parlor (yes, all of your floral needs can be met while licking a peanut butter cup ice cream cone):

It came out of nowhere.  H had been fine all morning.  Before lunch, I took both kids with me to the chiropractor so I could get my hips adjusted.  I’ve been having a lot of hip pain lately, partly from having loose joints and ligaments post-pregnancy, and partly from sleeping on a very old mattress that needs replacing.  (yes, my dreams of running a 10K in September have been dashed by my chiropractor, who says I need to scale back on my running).  Ok, not great news especially because the little bit of exercise I am getting is what is keeping me going….but I’ll manage, right?  So I continue with my day.  I take the boys to the library, then go home and fix them lunch.  I make Holden pasta, and he eats TWO bowls.  While this is happening, (and I am not paying any attention to how much H is eating), E basically screams for an hour because his gums are giving him pain.  I finally get him calmed down enough to sleep for 30 minutes, and when he wakes up, H is ready to try the new ice cream parlor he’s been dying to go to all summer.  We go….and H takes two tiny sips of milkshake.  And then vomit happens.  I ended up tossing both of our shakes in the trash, because with such a mess on my hands, I couldn’t manage to pack up our treats to eat later.  I cleaned up the table and chair with E’s burp cloth, packed my screaming baby and my vomit-covered preschooler into the hot car, and then ran inside to the florist to explain that my son had vomited everywhere, that I had tried to clean it up myself, that I was sorry, and that they should probably break out the garden hose to finish the job.

Yuck.

So now feeling thoroughly embarrassed (and smelling a little sour), I drive my unhappy children back to the house, where I bathed and nursed them, and feel thankful that at least Holden’s pricey new summer shoes are machine-washable.