Friday, April 09, 2004


While everyone was watching Condi, we were busy.

It was supposed to be a simple day: take a school friend to an egg hunt at the local public library and then spend time at the park, a regular playdate. It starts off fine: we pick up the friend with the obligatory car booster seat and head off to the library. Once there, we stand outside the library, waiting to go in when the kindergartener suddenly throws up the breakfast into my hair, her hair, my shirt, and her dress. The poor homeless man next to us jumps away, narrowly missing the projectile vomiting, but still asking if everything is okay. Bless his heart. It's a migraine headache, which came on very suddenly. The kindergartener passes out in my arms. The friend, looking horrified, obliges with a sympathetic throw-up. She's much neater since she manages to throw up without soiling her clothes.

Gathering everyone up, I buckle them back in the car and call the mother of the friend. The mother is at work; I get the grandmother who doesn't speak English. Fine; I'll drive to the park where her nanny is with her brother. The friend gamely tries not to throw up in the back seat while the kindergartener lies there passed out, covered with vomit. While I'm driving, I toss the friend a paperbag, and I promise her a playdate next week. At the park, I drop off the friend and booster seat with the nanny. Off we go, to home, drag the kindergartener out of the car, throw her into the bath and wash the goobers out of the hair. Kindergartener sleeps off the migraine. I clean up. End of my day.