Poor MiMi

Michaela is sick. Pukey, poopy, pale, feverishly sick. Poor thing is not used to feeling crappy since she so rarely ever gets anything so she's trying to keep a stiff upper lip.

She was complaining yesterday about her tummy feeling "grouchy" (I love that description) and then took a nap, had a fever, took some Motrin and didn't want to go out to dinner.

I knew something was definitely up if she's passing on exploring a restaurant's bathroom, one of her favorite activities when dining out.

She and Jenna and I snuggled in to watch Bee Movie and about halfway through she threw up all over me. I had my arm around her and she covered me from about mid-shoulder to mid-thigh in loveliness. Those of you who know us well may remember that both girls have puked on me before, ironically both on separate Mother's Days. I say you're not a real warrior mom until ALL of your kids have puked on you.

After we got Michaela in the tub and calmed down- she said very seriously to me after it was over,"I REALLY didn't like that!"- Dan asked me why the girls always seem to hit me directly with the puke and suggested that the next time he feels queasy he'll snuggle up into the crook of my arm and try puking there as well.

Perfect- a puking trifecta.