MyThreeDaughters

Rosebud, the three-year-old, decided to sit out dinner tonight and played with some toys in the family room.
As I was dishing up desert, some candy-like apple crisp that Wife had made from scratch before going to work, she started yelling and moaning. I assumed this meant the usual: she screams like a woman in labor EVERY time she’s about to poop.
So when the two big girls started calling to me as I cleared the table, I more or less ignored them.
“Um, Dad, you really need to come over here,” Fontaine said.
Yeah, yeah.
“Dad, really, you need to come over NOW!”
So I walked around the corner, and ooh, yuck, yick…
Rosebud stood there over a pile of vomit.
Are you OK, sweetie, I asked.
“Yeah.”
“WHAT did you eat today?” Fontaine asked.
Rosebud pointed at the puke.
“That,” she said.
Hard to argue with “that.”