Sweeney was ill over last weekend. He's had a few colds in his time, but he's not actually vomited since he was a teensy baby. For the first time in months, I took him into bed with me, and of course this is the event that triggers his first ever Gastric Incident. Poor mite was completely freaked out at what was happening, as well as feeling ever so crappy in the tum. I figure I came close to the land speed record for hosing him down, finding fresh pjs, changing the bed and getting us back to horizontal again.
And repeat. And again. The next morning, he seemed okay, just not that into food or drinks. We went for a walk along the water race around the corner from Mum and Dad's house, fed ducks, went to the park. We saw a white-faced heron, looking all wrong with his long legs for wading and his long beak for fishing, mooching about in the mown grass around a tree. My research this week has turned up that there are simply loads of these birds, but they mostly stay close to estuaries, rivers, bodies of water, and in breeding season, which is now, they nest up trees in pairs. Sweeney was really good about keeping a bit of distance and just watching the heron do his thing until another kid ran up to it and he flew up and around for a minute or so before he settled in the tree itself. Glorious wide wings unfolded for us, then folded back in to his sides. Sweeney kept watching the bird as it took off and flew, and laughed and laughed at the whole thing. Delight.
Saturday night was FREEZING. Sweeney got through the night okay and on Sunday we went up to Huntsbury Hill and stomped around in the snow that'd fallen overnight. Kids were sledding. There's a seat up there in memory of our Uncle Ron, Dad's friend since they were boys in Canada, who died 15 years ago. I got some lovely photos of Dad and Sweeney with snowballs - Sweeney's first ever - and will, when I work out how to do it, get one loaded onto here. Meanwhile, this is not him, and there was not this much snow.