Pukies and Blanket Jealousy.

I spent the better part of yesterday (as in on the hour, every hour) puking my brains into the toilet bowl. Thankfully Joey had decided to take the night off anyway so he was able to take care of the children.  I still vote that the hardest thing in life (besides maybe being in a cave alone and chopping your pinched arm off with your own pocketknife) is trying to take care of young children while you are puking your brains out, on the hour, every hour.  I tried my bestest to get up and get going this morning ( I want to eat! I keep fantasizing about ice cream floats, and coffee, and Hot Tamales),  but my body won't have it. I am weak and get the chills if I stand for too long and when I tried a bite of bagel it sent me running back to the toilet. Ugh.
It feels like Oregon in Reno today, all wet and grey. I once thought I'd like it up there, all the green (it is so beautiful!) but I miss my sun. By the end of the week it is supposed be in the mid seventies and sunny. I can't wait to feel the sun on my skin, soak it up, be done with this sickness and this forever winter we seem to be having here in Reno. I'm ready for bathers and bbq's, sand and a cold, fizzy drink.
Joey ran in the RTO this weekend (so glad I wasn't puking then!).  The boys and I went over to Jen's for dinner on Friday night. They made me a pink birthday cake and white frosting and pink and purple sprinkles, picked out especially for me by Ethan. He's such a doll.
On Saturday morning we got up and I taught a Balletone class (I am loving this format more and more every time I do it! Plus somebody once told me ballet is good for the wrinkles on your bootie. Anything to help Operation BHandT!). Then we went to Ethan's t-ball game. The little guys are actually playing now: we even had a chase from third to home with a slide in to score!! It was awesome. Ethan's still picking up the game. He plays outfield and the other day he tells me, "Mom, when I play baseball, sometimes the ants are going into the ground, and then sometimes they are coming out of the ground."  I reminded him it's more important during a baseball game to know where the ball is than what the ants are doing. I think he sorta got it.
Noah has morphed into a delightful two year old. His favorite and most often used word is "Nooooooooo!" in the whiniest voice imaginable. He says this while swatting at the air with his right hand. We've got the throwing of the food onto the floor under somewhat control. He has become very attached to his blankie, a symptom of what I as his working mother can only attest to separation anxiety. Every time he asks for it ("Bankie! Bankie!") it's like a stab to my guilty heart. The other day he actually did cry when I left him at child care and the pain I felt as I shut the door on his teary face was tortuous. I liked it better when he was interested in the play dough. So now we are trying to limit the blankie time, otherwise he is Linus from Charlie Brown: pulling the blankie everywhere behind him, inside, outside, he even wants it in the bathtub. I have to tell myself over and over, "He has not replaced you with the blankie. He has not replaced you with the blankie." But when the first thing he says when I pick him up from day care is "Bankie! Bankie!", his chubby little finger pointing to it in his cubbie,  it makes a mama wonder.