Back'n badder

While it may not have been apparent to you, fair readers, I was out last week, off in the Finger Lakes region of what has been aptly termed the Empire State, as it branches out like a would-be Texas of the Northeast. Since our musty 1890s vacation home boasted only a rotary dial phone without even a cord to plug into my laptop, posts appeared courtesy of our San Francisco affiliate: the Pie.

And quite a vacation it was! Vomit, my friends, eight times. Twice from Natalie, including a 3am incident in which she came into our bedroom, informed us she was going to puke, had me hold her hair back as she bent over the toilet, and was very proud that she didn't get any on her nightgown. I too was proud. Graham, who clocked six upchuckings in the week, was not as refined. Poor little guy. With a stomach bug on top of food allergies and possibly reflux, he has more reason than most to just let loose.

But there was much more than nausea to this vacation. We had some good weather. There was cool mountain lake swimming, including by Natalie, who took to the water with increasing and encouraging relish as the week moved on. Mary hung with Kate. For me, Dead Souls during nap time. As good and wierd a book as it was when I met it in high school. And Graham showed that he could sing along to Sandra Boynton's new classic "Snuggle Puppy of mine," even when his stomach was getting ready to let loose half an hour later.

And now back at work. Like drinking from a Birmingham fire hose.