Not for the Squeemish

If you don't like puking stories, this post is not for you. If you do, well . . . Not that there's anything wrong with that. Just keep reading.

Yesterday continued our Priesthood Ordinance weekend with Wyatt's baby blessing. Muncle Ryan did a great job. Wyatt puked on the 105 year old blessing gown, but that's not our story. Keep reading.

We went over to the Monrovia Rancher for Muncle Ryan's famous chicken salad. They also twisted my arm, surrounded me with praise, and forced me to make my famous guacamole. The Monrovia Rancher does not have kosher salt. That being said, I was able to scrape together some adequate quacamole. Lunch was delicious. Patch slept, Mini-me at cookies (Flower was at Ex's house), and Curly and I enjoyed the temporary reprieve from Jenny chicken salad.

After lunch, Colleen and I were lounging on the couch. Patch, now up from his nap, wandered over to us. Colleen picked him up and tossed him in the air a few times. We all enjoyed his giggles. She passed him over to me, and I got a great baby kiss, with tongue. I said "Patch, give Mommy another kiss." He leaned in, opened wide, and puked all over me. A little got in my mouth. It was gross, and totally Colleen's fault.

I sure appreciated everyone coming to my aid. No, wait, that didn't happen. Everyone did have a good laugh at my expense. Sorry to take the focus away from Wyatt's blessing day, guys, but that's the way I roll.