We haven’t been going out to eat much lately. It’s cold (definitely the coldest winter we’ve had since moving to Florida). It’s rained more this winter than the previous two years. The boys have had a string of colds, like the rest of the kids in the country. Honestly, by the time the sun sets, I just can’t bring myself to leave when it’s so cozy inside.

But, we did venture out on Sunday. We met Zach and his girlfriend for dinner at a steakhouse we really like. We then went out for frozen yogurt. I wasn’t feeling very well around 1:00 a.m. but it wasn’t too bad. At 6:15 a.m., I was roused by the horrible sounds of poor Mason getting sick. After I got him cleaned up (and stripped the bed, and got a load of laundry going with hot water and extra detergent – you moms have been there, right?), I asked Mason if he’d been feeling bad. He said no. He just woke up and threw up. After that, he curled up in our bed, and fell asleep while I scrubbed his mattress with hot, sudsy water.

He slept late, and missed “homeschool” that day. I let him play with the iPad, and watch Thomas the Tank Engine re-runs. He drank Ginger ale, and seemed better. He even managed to keep down a small bowl of Mac ‘N Cheese. After dinner, he didn’t feel very well. I asked him how much sausage he ate. He replied, “Seven of ’em.”

I told him, “That would have made you feel sick anyway, silly!”

The only thing he and I ate in common the previous night was yogurt so I’m thinking we both ended up with the same flavor. Everybody else in the family is fine.

This week’s Masonism:

I walked through the bedroom, and noticed Mason had his Woody doll from Toy Story on the bed, and was repeatedly but gently poking his chest.

I said, “What are you doing to Woody?”

Without looking up, he replied, “I’m giving him a heart transplant.”

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