We drove 3 hours yesterday evening to pick Quinn up from Farfar’s. When we came through the front door he ran up to me and squealed “mahhhmmmyyy”, throwing his arms around me. Pretty much the best feeling in the world. He then proceded to recount his entire weekend to me at a breakneck speed, barely taking a breath. He had a lot to share.

In addition to camping and swimming and playing “so cool games” he saw a parade, picked raspberries, held a chicken and threw up. Now that’s what I call a successful weekend. The vomit incident had happend around 5 a.m. Sunday morning and was chalked up to the lack of chewing and digesting he had done while consuming his macaroni and cheese the night before. He felt fine once he had expelled it from his stomach and was happy and eating normally the rest of the day.

We drove home late last night, he fell asleep in the car and went easily right to his bed when we rolled in past 1 a.m. Now to back up a little…

While I did have a footloose and fancyfree weekend I did not get the opportunity to sleep in past 9ish. Whether due to phone calls from friends who had forgotten we had a kid-free weekend (you know who you are ;)) or due to having to get up and bake 4 dozen mini cupcakes (for the baby shower Sunday morning), my hopes and aspirations for getting a 10-11 a.m. sleep-in were dashed.

Fast forward to this morning, 5:45 a.m.. I hear Quinn crying and find him in the bathroom braced over the toilet. And then he vomitted. (So well trained, making it to the bathroom before spewing. Bless his heart.) Once he was done I cleaned him up and brought him into bed with me with a hefty helping of towels barricaded around him. He got up a couple more times over the next 45 minutes, thinking he needed to throw up again but never did. At this point I knew he wouldn’t be going to summer day camp today and that I would be staying home from work. His stomach finally settled down and we finally fell back to sleep.

And then, gratefully, ironically the two of us slept in until 10:45.