As a generally optimistic person (or just a naive dumbass), I naturally assumed that there was nowhere to go but up after the Monday morning clusterfuck. And yet I was in no way surprised when Tuesday morning kicked off promptly with Ike projectile vomiting at the breakfast table.
I'd just smugly finished packing his bag for the day (INCLUDING HIS LUNCH GO ME) and turned around just to see it happen. An entire cup of milk, all over his nice clean bathing suit and matching(!) swim shirt, his chair, the floor, just everywhere.
And so instead of a second day of summer camp -- a precious day, one of only 10 days I'd ponied up for childcare for him all summer -- Ike spent the morning getting a bath and ushered back to bed. Then he voluntarily relocated to the floor outside the bathroom after the next wave hit him 20 minutes later.
And that was our morning. By mid-afternoon he'd perked up enough to sip water and watch some Super Why, then had a little dry cereal and another nap. By dinnertime he was running around like a lunatic all I WANT TACOS AND CANDY I'M STARVING.
So. He is back at camp today, and now the big question is who will throw up next, and when?
(Trick question. It was already Beau, but only because he keeps trying to eat cat poop out of the litter box.)
(I feel like this photo sums up my entire life right now.)
(They're fine! They're getting along really well now! They're just playing their favorite game of let's-pretend-to-rip-out-each-other's-jugulars.)