Yawn. Num.

We had an interesting Memorial Day weekend. The kids both got sick on Friday night, so for the first half of the weekend, there was a lot of sleeping going on around here.






Then they both started to perk up a bit by today, and were able to resume their previously adored pastime of stuffing their faces every chance they get:

A boy and his cob.

A funnel cake and Mommy's giant head.

They also both did an extremely impressive job barfing, but somehow I forgot to grab my camera to capture that particular moment on film for posterity. Bad Mommy. It was a fun night, though. Nora somehow managed to puke in her sleep and not wake up, therefor not waking us up (although we were probably awake sopping up Tate's 17 yarf puddles already), so walking into her room the next morning was simply an olfactory delight. Smelled just like daisies.

But like I said, they both perked up enough by today for us to go to a outdoor festival where we spent the afternoon basically putting Tate's life in the hands of scary people with questionable personal and dental hygiene practices as he rode the rides, and paying like $35 for a hot dog. It was a nice afternoon though.

I was able to escape on Saturday night, thanks to my dear husband, and go with some friends to see Night Ranger play in concert at the festival. You know. Night Ranger? That...band? From like the '80s? They play that awesome song "Sister Chistian" and...uh, some other stuff. It was a really fun night.

Sunday we went to a cookout in the neighborhood for a bit. We loaded the kids up on Tylenol and dashed out of the house to take advantage of their drug-induced agreeability and docility. The kids and I were back in the house fairly early on in the evening, and Eric took his turn staying out imbibing in a few beverages. That's how we have to do now. We take turns having fun. It's so much easier and cheaper that way.

So hopefully Tate's fever stays under control and we don't have The Hospital Disaster Part 2. I still break out in hives and a cold sweat when I think of our last experience. If we ever have to check Tate back into a hospital, I'm bringing a flask of vodka with me.