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A Ride on the Comet

It was another fairly normal evening.  I arrived home from work to hear the impatient whines of my daughter pleading with her mother to please, FEED FASTER.  Green beans were on the menu, a favorite fare for Justine, and she was happily lapping up large spoonfuls of the green goo.  Soon she was finished, just in time for a fabulous dinner of meatloaf and mashed potatoes that my wife slaved over, and I hungrily devoured, pausing between face-stuffings to make funny faces at Justine who stared blankly back.  Tough crowd, I guess.

Our nightly victuals consumed, we adjourned to the living room for an hour of Daddy-Daughter time, where I atoned for being gone all day by succumbing to the wishes of my little girl and sat and watched as she picked things up, dropped them, and then picked them up again. Fascinating.  After a while of that she moved on to her new favorite activity – unfolding clean laundry from the laundry basket.  First grabbing the edge, she pulls it down to her mouth for a lick, and then pulls it all the way to floor and proceeds to pull out each item of clothing, taste it, and throw it behind her.  My mind drifted as I pondered teaching her to sort socks – now THAT would be something.

I was jolted from my reverie as she toppled to one side, bonking her head on the floor and letting out a scream.  My fatherly instinct kicked in and grabbed the iPhone, waving it at her.  Steve Jobs knows how to captivate – she was transfixed.  Thus began a lengthy bout of crawling practice – over to one side to get the iPhone, back over to get a regular phone.  The juxtaposition of old technology to new was quite striking – although I’m not sure she picked up on it – she seemed more concerned tasting the phones rather than pondering their cultural significance.

She tired of the game, and that’s when the trouble began.   I picked her up and held her in the air.  She giggled.  I flipped her on her belly than back into a sitting position.  She squealed.  I lay down on my back and put her on my stomach.  Then I started doing sit-ups, rolling her back and forth with me.  She laughed.  Encouraged, I did it again.  More laughter.  One more time!

That’s when she vomited on my face.

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