Last Thursday we spent the whole day getting ready for a last-minute trip to Maine. We'd been invited up by our good friends to stay with them at their just-finished vacation house and we were very excited. By the evening we were all set to go, with the car completely packed and ready for an early morning start. (May I add here that this level of preparedness was a first in our short history as a family? Yes, this is foreshadowing.) As I dried the last dish to put away that night I felt a quiver of anticipation in my stomach. And then another. And then I had to sit down. Fast forward a few hours and I was retching my dinner into the toilet.
First me that night, then Lowell the next morning and then Matthew later in the day were stricken. We were all felled by either by the turkey burgers we ate that night or some foul virus (we'd recently been over at a friend's whose family had
just gotten over a sickness with identical symptoms). Willa did not get sick but, looking back, she had been iffy a day before. We'll never know. Needless to say we did not make it to Maine. In fact on Friday we did not make it more than a few feet in any direction. But due to Matthew's compulsion ever-readiness with the camera we were able to document our suffering for posterity. Click here for the most pathetic vacation photo set ever.
