I am not sure what it is about the way I dress that makes my children sick. I mean literally sick. It could be that they are making an obvious critique of me attire by way of regurgitation and demand I change. I know that children do get sick for a variety of reasons. Who knew my wardrobe would be one of them.
Riley, although learning to speak, cannot simply come right out and say, "Daddy, I hate your clothes." No, that would be too easy. She has to make an announcement in other ways. She is almost 18 months old now and opinionated. When she was younger she did not simply "spit up" on me. No, that would have been expected.
While enjoying dinner with friends at Cracker Barrel one fine evening Riley opted to choose that as the time to tell me she hated my shirt. And pants. Riley had recently finished some yogurt and a bottle. Great combination as I later learned. I was holding her up, facing me, when I saw a look on her face I recognized. Her eyes sort of fixed on me and she looked confused. I had seen her sisters exhibit a similar look in the past and I distinctly remembered what happened after I saw the look on previous occasions.
There I was staring at my child and before I could react, up came the...well...everything. The poor family seated behind us had their meal ruined by the sight of me being drenched in baby puke. The remainder of the restaurant got an amusing show. Riley laughed. I wanted to run out screaming like a little girl in embarrassment. My clothing was drenched and smelly and I had nothing else to wear. Oh boy.
Luckily for me, Chris and Liz are prepared for everything. I got a pair of utilities and a t-shirt to change into and all was well, except for the mess I had to clean up on the floor of the restaurant. Luckily we were seated right where everyone could see.
Once again Riley let me know she did not appreciate what I was dressed in. And of all things, I was wearing a Chargers jersey with her uncle's number on it. Sorry Uncle Mike, she just wasn't feeling it after the loss on Thursday. Anyway, she was playing and sitting in my lap when I saw the look again. Then, she did it again. All I could do was sit there on the couch and just hold her up until mommy came to the rescue.
No one ever told me that my children would be so brutally honest. So for my daughters I have a request...please don't puke on me again. I am sorry I am not as stylish as you all are. I will try to do better. Maybe mommy should pick out my clothes?
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