Tuesday, October 12, 2004


I have most assuredly reached an all-time low in my life. Throwing up at the law school. Twice.

Yesterday morning I got a text message from Death and awoke bright and early to find myself sprinting to the bathroom to throw up absolutely nothing. This event is always rather inauspicious.

Anyway, I have no idea why I woke up Monday morning with a stomach virus. No idea whatsoever. No clue what could have possibly introduced such awful germs to an already shaky immune system. No idea at all...

* * * * *

Sunday morning I worked with 2-year olds in the church nursery. Such delightful creatures they are. So imaginative and friendly and completely sanitary.

If you're a long time reader of my present and former blog, then you know that few things engender good blogging quite so well as a) going to the mall for any reason whatsoever, or b) spending time with little kids.

Have you ever tried to put together a little-kid puzzle? You know, the kind that have like, 9 pieces, and they assemble into a picture of a family going to church, or a family praying over food, or Jesus skipping rope amongst a group of small children representative of all prominent ethnic minorities, or like, butterflies?

Well those things are quasi-impossible for anyone over the age of 5 to put together. I was trying to do exactly this, while my 6'1", 200 pound self was sitting/crouching on one of those little 2-year old person chairs, when I heard the bellowing of a little 2-year old person.


This was Chloee, and it took her repeating that about 6 times before I realized it was directed at me.

"Yes Chloee?"

"Come here!"

Of course she said "here" in the way that only a 2-year can, so it wasn't so much a "here" as it was a "heow"

"What for?"

The child looked suprisingly enraged by my defiance.

"Come heow now! You're in time out! You have to sit in the house!"

So I rolled off my little pygmy chair and into the little plastic play house. The child stood in the doorway, glaring at me bitterly.

"You're in twouble!"

I am now finding this increasingly amusing, and it's only made more amusing when it becomes gradually more apparent that this child is not kidding. I really am in twouble. And I really will be doing hard time in the plastic house because of it. But I know my rights.

"Why am I in trouble?"

"You play with the toys!"

"I can't play with the toys?"

"NOOO! It's shanedrous."

"...it's what?" [trying to suppress my laughter at the pronunciation of a word that I can only guess was supposed to be "dangerous"]

"It's shanedrous."



I guess she had experience with the little-kid puzzles. Those things are shanedrous. After a few minutes, some of the other children became concerned over my little plastic Guantanamo Bay, and decided that the best way to liberate me would be to bring me toys. This did not go over well with Chloee, who insisted that she was the boss and that I didn't get toys because I was in time out. Before long a brawl errupted and cardboard bricks and plastic vehicles were flying in and out of the plastic house and I found myself with no means of controlling the utter chaos.

Chloee herself caught a dumptruck to the noggin. But instead of crying, she just glared at me, pointed to the truck, and proclaimed with satisfaction, "See? It's shanedrous."

Yes Chloee, indeed it is. And it was almost worth spending the subsequent 24 hours trying to expel my pancreas through my esophagus. Almost.