The Rock Star yakked again tonight. Bright purple blueberry barf all over the stairs. He then proceeded to sprint to the bathroom and deposit even more berry blast into the toilet. This explains why he fell asleep on his bed this afternoon without prompting from me. I had to wake him and we then had the following conversation--entirely groggy on his part.
Me: What do you want for dinner?
Me: Nothing? What about pizza?
Me: How 'bout Beck? We could eat Beck for dinner. (trying to get him to laugh so that he'd actually wake up)
Me: If you don't give me any ideas, I'll just make mashed potatoes. (He hates those!)
Him: No you won't.
Me: Maybe if you wake up all the way I'll let you have ice cream for dinner.
Him: Well, that's not going to happen. So I'm not going to do it.
And then I laughed. A lot. He's only three but sometimes he has the practical wisdom of an eight-year-old.
Half an hour later, he threw up all over the floor and dinner was altogether out of the question.