OK, if you're one of the people who's written about how you can't stand hearing about the drip drip drip of irritating events in our lives, this is a good place to stop.
Vomit. Copious amounts of it this morning. Poor, poor D, who never ever vomits. We believe it is just a bad combination of extremely fibrous orange, post-nasal drip, and too much milk drunk too quickly. At nursery school, though, we learned that there is apparently a nasty bug going about that involves considerable liquid drainage "from both ends," as it were, so we are all praying that it's not that. Because honestly, what you really don't want at a moment of health care transition (a.k.a., moving to the catastrophic-insurance-and-otherwise-out-of-pocket standard) is for someone to have a real sickness. Go fibrous orange and morning mucus! Go!
My sense of personal worry was put in some perspective this morning when I read about the heightening pace of evictions in Maine. It is so cold here right now. It's not like when we were in California and you could spend a few minutes outside without risking damage to any exposed flesh. We're landlords, not tenants; that puts us one step higher on the food chain that ends in the gaping, insatiable maw of the consolidated banking oligopoly. One fairly small step, but a step nonetheless. I think I'm going to see if there's any way I could volunteer for Pinetree Legal.
Okay, back to work.
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Poor little baby: GI illness is the pits.
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