Sam, it seems, no longer needs help protecting himself from flu germs. He can wash his own hands, thank you very much. Note he's not standing on his normal stool because he'd pushed that over to the kitchen sink earlier. Instead, he made do with the garbage can. This can-do attitude of his earned us another call to poison control last week when he climbed his way up to the medicine cabinet and got into the Tums. So, so glad he picked the Tums over all the other tasty possibilities. Much less thrilled to know we've got a little log of calls going at the Poison Control Center. Speaking of hurling, weren't we?, I just got back from the eat a crazy diet for three days, then fast for 12 hours, then come in and slam the sugariest drink known to man and let us draw your blood every hour on the hour for four hours test. So I'm feeling a little woozy, a lot wiped out and ready for a nap. Also a little nervous about the test results.
