Yesterday G was reading nursery rhymes to James and the one about Professor Dawkins came up…
James’s reaction was to point at the Prof and say:
“He bumped his head! Like a monkey!”
and G replied:
“Well, yes. He’s just been assaulted by a goose”.
I’m now unable to read this to James without laughing insanely, with tears in my eyes. This makes James laugh too. He will grow up assuming that there is nothing more hilarious than throwing an old man down the stairs.
In less jovial news, we are living in a vomitorium this week. (It’s alright, QI fans, I know that’s not really what it means). And anyway its not just vomit. It’s the other stuff too.
The boylet was sent home on Thursday with a 48-hr ban for crimes against nappies and has remained poorly ever since. That night, sometime in the small hours, he appeared in our bedroom doorway in a fug of vomit-scented foulness. It was one of those full-on emissions where we all had to get out of bed to clean up and sort out new bedding and re-bathe the boy, before putting him back to bed in weary anticipation of the next course…
Then on Friday he was whiny and clingy all day but blessedly vomit-free.
We thought he was better on Saturday and took him on a “ponker hunt” in Osterley Park (this is what he calls conkers).
We also found lots of acorns..
But then he got tired and miserable and whiney and wanted to be carried, so we came home and ordered a Chinese takeaway. Just after we’d set the table and got it all laid out, James vomited into his dinner plate. *sigh*. Once that was cleaned up he declared himself hungry for the first time in days and ate lots of prawn crackers and some chow mein. Then he had his bath and milk… and projectile-vommed his dinner back up all over the sofa. *double sigh*. Thank god for washable sofa covers. It never fails to amaze me how cheerful microbes are when they vomit.
So – after days of zero sustenance, he’s now even paler than his mummy. This makes him officially translucent, with the exception of a grey smudgey bruise on his cheek. More than ever he looks like a chimney sweep who’s been raised on gruel. If he was at drama school he’d be on the agents’ books as the grim-looking, pasty one, ideal for playing workhouse extras or the lead role in child abuse infomercials.
On that cheery note, I shall bid you farewell and hope for a better week ahead.