Poetry, of sorts...

Small child had some 12-hour bug this morning - which thankfully has worn off, and he bouncing around again - but he threw up twice. Or, as he described it, "I don't want to be all buttery spluttery all over the kitchen floor again."

I know, I'm biased, but I feel he is very poetic (as well as talking lots of bo**ocks). Yesterday he told me a whole story about how the remainder of his chicken pox spots (he's got a lot in his hair) are sending medicine to his brain to look after him. I went to pick him up from a playdate on Friday, and the mother said "I didn't know you had another one, Andy, who's four." And I said, "I don't, that's Andy from Toy Story who lives with us, but is not, er, real. As I said, patent bo**ocks :)