You may like pizza. You may like orange juice.
Your stomach will not like pizza and orange juice together.
Sigh... Another lesson learned the hard way. H has come to us a couple times saying that he "just throwed up a little bit," which we've never seen, and have always been a little suspicious of. Last night while driving home, after the pizza and OJ, he said he was going to throw up so I pulled the car over, helped him out, and leaned him over a snowbank. Whoo-hoo I love being a daddy! He held his tummy, cried, wretched, and spit twice on the snow. Satisfied and vindicated, he proclaimed "SEE!!! I throw up!" I kind of looked at him and just said, "Um, that's not throw up." "What you mean?" he said. "Well, throw up is everything out. Throw up looks like the pizza you ate, not spit."
Silence.
"Really?" Habti said in disgust, making a face that indicated to me this was the first time he was actually visualizing what barf looks like. "Really Really? You are joking." "Nope. Really really," I replied using the most somber Daddy voice I could muster.
Now, I know full well that spit is often the pace car of the UpChuck 500, so even though I *thought* he was finished, we went for a little walk before getting back in the car just to make sure. (See mom, I did learn some life skills at college!)
Meanwhile on a totally different note, today H has been toodling around the house saying, "Like, Zoinks!" and then giggling. He knows it's 'bad English' and very satisfying in the way that it makes his mother and I cringe.
Also this evening, the kids and I were in the car tonight listening to the radio and both children picked up on the phrase, "RELAX! Don't do it!" that was being repeated over and over and over.
Wait until their mother hears about that one...
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