This is Gerret who threw up in the middle of the night, wasn't bothered by it enough to wake himself or his parents up, came down gross and smelly this morning --not to mention feeling a little raunchy on the insides-- and insisted on attending school despite it all.
He especially wanted to be at school because he's been waiting a month for his parent to be the class helper and to bring his new spiderman to show-and-tell.
Today was slated to be that day. What luck.
Any other morning after nighttime vomiting and I would have kept him home, but his heart was so set on going and he was so courageously pretending to be well that I just couldn't say no. So PTB went to school with him and they made it back home without an incident, but Gerret came in the door and headed straight for the living room to recuperate.
It was five minutes of quiet from the boy before I heard something like a small voice. He was whispering demurely from his spot on the couch, I could barely make it out.
"I wish we lived next to the beach."
He started talking about this on our ride home. He'd been sitting there, still and ponderous when I asked him what was going on. He told me he had been thinking and then made the same comment you heard. I guess his logic—or so he explains it—is that there is not enough sand in a sand box. He needs a beach.
ReplyDelete