Note to self

The readers love the vomit tales! (Good to know that other kids like to stuff their mouths so full of food that their bodies reject it violently.)

When Ben was sick recently, he puked four times in two weeks (this was shortly before the McNugget/Twizzler incident). Twice, it was the standard little-kid puke-on-the-floor variety. And what parent doesn't love scooping up putrid muck, spot-cleaning rugs and slipcovers, and copious room-deodorizer spraying?

The other two incidents had almost a transcendent beauty to them. The kid ain't even five years old yet, and he got up, walked to a wastebasket, and hurled directly into it. No spills! No stains! No splashing! Okay, so maybe I retched when transferring the wastebasket contents into a plastic bag (like matryoshka, those Russian nesting dolls—the puke was sealed within four or five nested bags). But compared with the typical, age-appropriate technicolor puddle, no muss, no fuss.

I've never been so proud of Ben.