Three strikes and... I'm out.

It was a busy day at our house. Now, granted, most days end up being pleasantly busy, but today was a full day to wrap up an already very-full weekend. I worked at the library the day before, got dinner on exceedingly late, and had been worrying a bit about the girls' sleep deficit as I watched them over their Cheerios this morning. They didn't look good.

And sure enough, as we were going over the rundown at the breakfast table, Fiona began to tear up. "I don't want to go to Religious Education this morning. And I don't want to go to Mass." I set her milk down in front of her and barreled full-steam into my distraction method of telling her about the things she'd do after Religious Ed., as long as today was one of the days it was offered, and had started talking about what she might like to wear when she dropped her head to the kitchen table and added, "I don't feel very well."

"Oh!" I said, playing a card I was none too proud to be playing. "If you're sick, you won't be able to go to class, but you won't be able to go play at Helena and Ada's house while Dad and I are working today, either."

Unfazed, Fiona went on. "You remember when I was whiny and I didn't feel like eating my Pop Tart?" I assured her that as much as I wished I could, I could never think of a time I'd ever seen her turn down a Pop Tart. "Are you sure I was there?" I asked coyly.

"No, it was just Dad and Nora." Oh. That explained it. "Hey, was that last month when you had the pukes?" I had begun to put two and two together.

Strike 1: Fiona didn't want to go to Mass.

Strike 2: Fiona was painting her condition in broad strokes of "stay home" color.

"Well," she continued, "I feel like that today, except for not quite as bad."

Hmmmm. Curiouser and curiouser.

"Oh yes, I remember that. You were sick. Definitely no Helena's house if you're sick like that."

Fiona nodded her head sagely. "I know. But you just got us a new Backyardigans DVD, and I'm sure I could have a better day if I watched that while I was sick."

That's it. Strike three. A little wounded that Fiona had chosen a new Backyardigans DVD over her friend Helena-- even if it IS one of the very few things she is allowed to watch every once in awhile on TV, making it seem more special than it should-- I scooped up the picked-over Cheerios and took the girls upstairs to get dressed. Ian was up, so I deferred to someone less disgruntled and took my shower.

Fiona had puked twice by the time I emerged, feeling clean and dirty all at the same time.