Margaret was sick this weekend. Well, she was sick Thursday, and so didn't go to school (and was quite adorably worried that she might have missed something that she needed to make up). Friday, she seemed better so we sent her. All was well. Saturday she did fine, and then we left her with a babysitter and went out to dinner. Leo went back to hang out with his brother (who was visiting) and I went home. The babysitter left, and I settled in for some peace and quiet. Five minutes later, a vomit-covered Margaret came downstairs. I washed her, remade her bed, started laundry, and disinfected the house. It was not soothing. She's been fine since, but we've been wondering what might have caused it.
Then this morning, I snapped this picture.
I found myself muttering "Spend all of my life raising children to feed ruddy Margarets? Not me."
Anyway, she seemed fine.