The last few days the Frog and I have been fighting off nausea and a general sense that we feel ill. The spud has been his high-stepping self until this morning when, halfway to an out-of-town visit, about 45 minutes from home, he threw up his breakfast all over himself. Nothing like negotiating the entry to the M4 whilst listening to one's offspring redecorate the back of the car.
I need here to leave a word of thanks to the goddess as right at the entrance ramp there is a petrol station; so just as he was heaving his last and seconds before we got sucked into the vortex of the motorway I was able to stop and get the poor kid cleaned and changed.
We turned for the journey home, 45 minutes of auditory and other sensory delights as the spud's stomach proved it wasn't just fooling around. Once back, bathed, reclothed, cuddled and tucked onto the sofa with "Ice Age" while I washed various car-related items (and two sets of his clothes) he felt well enough to ask for a little warm chocolate milk and once that had been down for half an hour with no ill effects, I offered him a dry biscuit.
I have very bland taste in biscuits. My favourites are Digestives and if given a choice between say, a Bourbon vs a Rich Tea I'll take the Rich Tea every time. Recently I discovered these cheapo, very plain, very lo-calorie biscuits which are, I believe the acme - or perhaps it should be the nadir - of how plain a biscuit can possibly be. I love them and I gave one to the spud an hour ago.
He took it. He looked at it. "Is this for Elsie?" he said, holding it up and talking about our elderly next door neighbour. "Or for Papi Georges?" his 81 year old Grandfather. "It's a Papi Georges biscuit!"
Only 3 and already he's assigning food into age-appropriate brackets.
It stayed down by the way and now he's demolishing cheerios. We may have to conclude that he is simply be car sick. I know that right now I, personally, am sick of the car.