PhotoShoot Sunday Feb 10, 2008

If it's possible to have a hang-over from having too much fun, Alison has one. Jeff and I went out Saturday night with the Ogdens and a bunch of other people, leaving the kids with our sitter, Delaney. As a former way-fun babysitter, I'm happy that the kids just love her. As the mother and keeper of the house, I'm sometimes less-than-happy, though.

The kids spent 6 hours with Delaney, having grapes, pizza, ice cream, candy, popcorn and generally tearing up the place. Someone had the idea of spitting popcorn kernels, and I'm still finding evidence of it. Even though she'd put them to bed, before we got home around midnight, they were all wide-awake like little opossums, eyes shining up from their various places on the bed and on cushions and the bean bag scattered around it.

While all seemed fine -- if a little late -- it wasn't until this morning that Alison complained of a stomache ache. At first I thought she was being dramatic, but when the first wave of vomit came, I was convinced. It's been a little like that party we had years ago at the Home for Wayward Girls that turned into a vomitorium. But without the vodka.

I think Ali's trouble is the combination of all the junk and nothing more, but if she's not better tomorrow, I'll call the doctor. None of the other little partiers is sick.

Life otherwise is pretty good. Jeff played poker Friday and ended up in the top tier, so if he asks you to play cards with him, you might want to find an excuse. He and the boys drank and watched girls while Karin and I and a bunch of other women nowhere close to needing estrogen replacement therapy saw Menopause the Musical last night. It's got its moments. Makes me shudder to think of the fun ahead. Makes me remember that I planned to be dead by the time I was 30. So much for planning.

Ah well. I have a hot forehead to cool down. This, I can manage.