10 January, 2006

Just call me Florence Nightengale

Yesterday I'd just finished taking B's temperature for the umpteenth time (which was normal, by the way-- he's out of the woods) when the dog walked up and vomited at my feet. Charming.

Had to plow my way through a counter full of antibiotics, fever reducers and cough medications to get to the paper towels and vinegar.

Started mopping up the mess and was horrified to find flecks of blood in D's vomit. Great. She always seems to have something, but this is over the top, even for her! Ulcer? Cancer? Perforated esophagus?

It was only today at snacktime that the lightbulb finally went off. S and B are addicted to Baby Bell cheeses and were tearing through the dark red wax coatings in a frenzied way. And D was sitting expectantly next to them licking her chops. D'oh!

Isn't there some sort of unwritten law against coloring food in the same hues as a bodily fluid?! You'd think they could make that wax dark green, or something! But being as quick as I am lately I might just assume that D is a martian oozing emerald alien slime...

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