n unfortunate resemblance to a semi-daily event in my home (unfortunate that it happens so often, and that for me - not me exactly, but my son A - that it involves a different bodily substance, a smelly smelly substance - “People Order Our Patties”, A quote from SpongeBob SquarePants)

dooce: I resolve to eat more leafy green chocolate
“In classic Armstrong fashion our new year began when we walked into Leta’s room yesterday morning to find that she had decorated her body with puke during the night. Red twizzler puke. With chunks of refried beans and a glaze of Sprite. A festive quiche of holiday vomit. It was in her ears, in her hair, up her nose, wrapped around each knuckle, lodged in the zipper of her pajamas. Her right hand had been covered in puke so long that when I finally washed it off, her fingers were so swollen with wrinkles that she couldn’t even wiggle them. They were frozen in place. Stuck. Five little rigid reminders of what can happen when someone lets a toddler go to bed with gum in her mouth.”

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