Sunshine-y Vomitorium
June has come to the valley like a friggin’ dream! The weather is outstanding and any beefs I had with Dear Mother… well, March/April/May were a total bitch… but after these past several days, I’m willing to consider a truce.
The garden is getting done. We moved the last of the new load of soil yesterday. And, as a final step before planting our livelihood, we get a load of manure from neighbor farmer friend. The stuff makes the worst in weeds… weeds to scare young children and the elderly… runners like ropes extending to bloody well strangle the core of the earth… the stuff of nightmares. But the shit comes free. Kids and elderly will just have to suck it up and squeeze eyes shut as they yank.
After last weekends trip to The Island and Seattle and the pukiness that accompanied, it seems to have resurfaced with Zip. Mid-movie last night, complaining of feeling like he had to puke, Zip did just that. Little trooper had the uncharacteristic presence of mind of newly minted six year old and ran to the loo. Over and over. And it wasn’t until the last- and most dramatic- spew that he began to complain and cry a little.
Went to bed with big bowl… empty this morning. Thank God/Jehovah/Oprah/Rob Zombie….
I cannot handle the vomit. No way. It. Makes Me… Vomit. I could handle the baby puke. The spit up. White, clotted, sour smelling, sure. But not bile, chunky, of chicken bits and regurgitated Caesar salad. This is job of mi Filipes. He does puke well. He handles that of the bodily with cool aplomb.
So, mummy is very happy this morning not to be faced with bowl of bile, chicken bits and Caesar salad… revisited.
