Today, the Dubses were asking us about our bedtime routines with the kids. I thought it would be cute to get the kids themselves to share.
“Chilkoot, do you get out of bed at night?”
“Yes!” He doesn’t. Ever.
“Really! What do you do?”
“What do you do downstairs?”
“Play? All by yourself?”
“Yes, all by my…mmm…with a couple of friends!”
Chilkat was eating grapes on the couch today. She asked for more grapes. I gave her more. She started to eat them. I called my little brother to wish him Merry Christmas. We spoke for a little while.
Then Chilkat came around the corner, very concerned, with her grape bowl in front of her, saying, “Daddy…Daddy…”
I said, “What’s wrong, sweetie?” I looked at the bowl, and I thought, “Why did she chew up a bunch of grapes and spit them back out in the bowl? Is there something wrong with the grapes?”
Then she started to gag. I said very quickly, “GottagobyeNorthwood” and hung up.
Things proceeded fairly predictably from there, except that she managed to keep most of her vomit in the grape bowl. She hasn’t thrown up in probably more than a year — I doubt she even remembers the last time. She was more scared than anything, not understanding what was going on. She told me she was feeling fine until she started to eat the grapes, but I don’t know how much I can trust her testimony on that. It was an interesting experience mostly for how it made Chilkat feel, and that she came running to me for help instead of Mommy or Nana, both of whom were around.
Anyway, this has given rise to a new phrase which I intend to use often. “Better than a bowl of grapes and vomit!”