what's it gonna be?

We were in San Francisco for the Thanksgiving holiday.  These doors belong to someone there.  To a house.  Just a regular, very fancy house.  Yes, they're gorgeous, but really, could you face that everyday?  Door number one, number two, or number three?  

Yesterday at 4am our little one awoke with a tummy ache.  His lovely, sweet father cuddled him in our bed and after a brief consultation with his groggy mother, offered him a banana.  This sufficed until about 5:30am, when he vomited the banana into the waste bin, right on top of its peel.  Perfect.  The vomiting continued about every 10 minutes for just over two hours.  Poor little shaking boy.

The brief consultation at 4am had been about Diatomaceous earth (basically ground up seashells used for killing snails and fighting nausea) and whether or not to give it to him.  I've used it three times, and twice it's completely stopped whatever viscious stomach cramps have begun.  But for some reason, we went with door number 2, the banana.  And as I stood in the shower I couldn't help but wonder if a different choice would have saved him from all that wretching.

Fancy house in San Francisco:   You can keep your three doors.  I've got all the woulda, coulda, shouldas I need.    

P.S. Does it reveal too much about my cheese quotient to tell you how much I LOVED the Will Smith movie, Hancock?  I had no intention of liking it.  Come on, the premise seems like a horrible idea.  A drunk superhero with a PR problem?  But it's perfect.  Absolutely beautiful.