Up Chuck

The evening of the 19th was a Daddy-Daughter night, and we headed over to Chuck E. Cheese's for an elementary fundraising dinner. Char had plenty of friends there from her kindergarten class, and in between playing "games" and eating cold pizza I talked to a few fellow sufferers - a.k.a. parents I know. While we were leaving Charlotte declared, "We're coming here for every Daddy-Daughter night!"

I felt like a hero.

But then Char was uncommonly quiet on the way home. When I asked her if she liked the pizza tonight she vomited her reply onto the floor mat in two, wet splats. "Oh, Char..."

I could see her teary eyes in the rear view mirror when she cried, "I'm sorry, Daddy." I have no idea why she felt the need to apologize. "It's okay honey; it's not your fault. You just got a little sick."

Charlotte responded with a longer heave. This time, I thought I could feel debris hitting the back of my neck. "Ohhh, that one sounded bigger... are you doing okay?"

"Yeah..." her voice trailed off into round three. There wasn't much strength in it, but the smell was now filling the car. It was a relief to turn the corner and see our driveway. I stripped Char down in the garage, and we headed upstairs to get her cleaned up in the bathroom. She later threw up during the night, and on Friday morning Charlotte woke up with pink eye.

Oh, man. That's not what I had in mind. Tonight we have another Daddy-Daughter night, and instead of Chuck E. Cheese Char wants to go to the Pizza Ranch.

I hope they don't have a chuck wagon.