Imagine if you will, Lofton driving my car in his jeans and cowboy boots-- no shirt, me in my linen trouser pants, heels, and an XL man's polo, and our little boo in nothing. No shoes, no pants, no shirt. Where were we headed?
A fun party? A mid-year costume contest?
Nope. How about home from the local Chinese restaurant? Where we didn't even have a chance to eat because literally five minutes after we sat down Reese vomited. On me. And the table. And the floor. Oh and in my purse. Yes I said in not on.
My high heeled self literally bolted for the door, carrying the projectile vomiting toddler as I ran. It was awful. And then he got sick in the parking lot.
The car ride home? Equally as pleasant as the non-dinner dinner. My shirt was... ummm... saturated-- so I stripped it off. Reese's clothes and shoes were equally as yucky so he got naked too. And then I realized that a local third grade teacher riding through town topless might not go over so well in the community, so Lofton gave me his shirt.
What a vision he was in jeans, boots, and no shirt. If only the smell of yak wasn't permeating my every pore....
And now, little boo sleeps. Clearly feeling like yuck because he is pale, mildly-whiny, and ridiculously sleepy. Like I was trying to get him to drink something and he fell asleep in my lap. Shoot.
Lofton is staying home tomorrow because I must administer some silly standardized test. He's super excited. You know how much he loves a tummy virus....
No comments:
Post a Comment