"There was an Old Man of the Coast,
Who placidly sat on a post;
But when it was cold,
he relinquished his hold,
And called for some hot buttered toast."
Edward Lear, English artist, writer; known for his 'literary nonsense' & limericks (1812-1888)
TIME: 11:13 AM
PLACE: Kitchen
SUBJECT: Toast with sad butter face
Just as I was beginning to relax and believe that, maybe, just maybe we were going to skirt by the season without a stomach virus, I jinxed myself. While in the bathtub last night, StellaDella told me that her stomach hurt a little. A few hours later, she emptied the contents of her cheese pizza dinner and cinnamon stick dessert into our bed. Bath #2 was given a little after midnight. About 2 hours after the second bath, the remainder of what didn’t make it out the first time showed up in her bed. Then she crawled back into our freshly made bed and we all had some sleep. This morning, she asked for something to eat, so she’s on the BRAT (bananas, rice, applesauce and toast) diet, along with plenty of fluids until tomorrow. Technically, the toast should have been un-buttered, but I did several loads of bedclothes in the laundry today…and doing another load wouldn’t have been a big deal. She didn’t eat it anyway.
