This past weekend, we celebrated Memorial Day. Because the workweek here is Sunday through Thursday, we didn't have Monday off, we had Sunday off. However, because our guests were from Wales, England, France, and Canada, none of them had Sunday off. So instead we celebrated on Saturday. Got that?
When I was a child, we always spent Memorial Day at the pool. Our pool opened on Memorial Day and closed on Labor Day, and both days were celebrated with a pot luck pig pickin'. So I always associate Memorial Day with barbecue, fried chicken, cole slaw, potato salad, and my personal favorite, hushpuppies.
We couldn't find anyone to sell us a whole pig, and don't have anywhere to set up an oil-drum pig smoker, so we only had fried chicken for protein. But of course we had the cole slaw, potato salad, hushpuppies, and for dessert, peach ice cream.
Our Saturday morning was spent in various food preparations, and the girls started the morning in our company. They peacefully painted in watercolors (practicing the color-mixing principles they had learned at a friend's house that week) while Edwin wandered around the house, Roomba-fashion, picking up whatever was in his path. After awhile, the girls got bored, so Brandon turned on an Abba CD for them in the study.
Our study had two spinning office chairs, and there are two girls, so two girls heartily amused themselves while spinning to the solid-gold seventies Abba tunes. Who doesn't like Dancing Queen? They were happy, and we were left in peace, and our work progressed well as Brandon chopped potatoes and I peeled and mashed peaches.
After twenty or thirty minutes of peace, Sophia started coughing. I wasn't worried (I never am until the bones snap and the screaming starts in earnest), but Brandon was and went to check. "I keep coughing things up," she told him, so he brought her into the kitchen. And then the burps came, and we looked at each other and rushed her to the trash can just in time for breakfast to come around again, several times.
After she was calmed down and cleaned up, we catalogued all of the food she had eaten for the last twenty-four hours. Nothing seemed suspicious, and nobody else was sick. We felt her forehead, and it was normal. She didn't complain of a headache or feeling badly.
And then I remembered: the spinning. So now we know who in the family gets motion sickness.
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6 comments:
I feel her pain! Poor Sophia. She will one day grow to love Dramamine.
OK, doesn't anyone else see the other possible cause of this poor child's nausea and vomiting? C'mon, people! I mean for goodness sake - ABBA??!! Wasn't that one of the things they played in Panama to make Noriega come out with his hands up/over his ears?
At least she hasn't thrown up on a plane. Yet.
Poor thing! Maybe it was a combination of things and she'll still love the rides. You can hope. Okay, what are hushpuppies?
I remember a similar spinning experience involving a tire-swing I didn't want to relinquish. Siblings (and I believe Brandon was involved) spun me till I puked. The vengeful part of me is still glad that I puked in the swing itself––MMMWUUUHAHAHAHAHA!!!
OK, I'll wade in here. Hushpuppies are delicious spheres/torpedo shapes of deep fried corn meal dough, indigenous to the Southeastern US, usually served as a side to barbecue. What's barbecue? It ain't a verb, honey, just pure half-a-day smoked-side-of-a-pig pleasure, a secret known to those located on the correct side of the M-D line.
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