Thursday night was spent pacing the floors with little Ejo, who was regurgitating regularly. There was no fever, nor any other symptom of blech, but the vomit was convincing.
Friday morning came bright and early. Marsha knocked on my door, as we were supposed to caravan down to Manti with the Smiths for a fun filled weekend of nothing-to-do. “Didn’t you get my text?” I asked. I then explained our previous evening. We went back to bed for another hour or two. Then tried to decide: Manti for the weekend with a possibly sick child, or a weekend at home with house projects galore. In the end Everett was showing no sign of further illness, and we determined we could not dissappoint Calvin, who had already spent every morning that week, crying because it was not the day to go to Manti.
We loaded up and headed down.
Friday was spent in the shade of the Cottonwood tree next to the garden talking about nothing important.That night (and every night of the weekend) Everett’s mysterious ruminations returned. Poor Kirsten got the brunt of it as she was on the couch in the family room and inevitably heard me shuffling about each night trying to sooth and care for the distraught child.
Saturday we went on a picnic to the lake and took jumping pictures on the ridge of skyline drive. That night we barbequed burgers and ate fresh veggies from the garden.
Sunday we sat around, letting the kids run in and out in the great adventure of rural town freedom.
It was everything a labor day weekend is supposed to be: barbeques and fresh food from the garden and relaxation with good friends.
Thank you Smiths for being so gracious as my children vomitted, played, and got into things they shouldn’t have. It was a great weekend.