Can we pweeeeeeeeeeeeze go to Disneyland?

It started at 1pm, when caller ID showed that the preschool was calling. Immediately you get a pit in your stomach.


Dear Gawd, why are they calling, how hurt is she? What happened?

Mrs. Nance? This is Miss So-in-so calling from Montessori school. Jessica is throwing up everywhere.

We'll be there, right away.

Poor Jessica. She wasn't sick when we sent her to school, therefore I sure hope the school doesn't think we knew she would do that. Phil got to school quick and there she was....embarrassed, claiming to her school mates, teacher and daddy that "it was an accident." Upon coming home and flopping on her Dora the Explorer couch, she grunted, moaned and clung to her belly for hours. While both daddy and I were doting over her, she did manage to look as pathetic as ever, struggle with a weak voice and ask

"Can we pweeeeeeeze go to Disneyland?"

That's when the parents looked at each other and unanimously voted that "she was milking it."

But really she wasn't. Of course knowing Jessica she'll try to get something in there....gotta love her effort. But hey, the poor thing asked to go to bed almost 2 hours early with only having a popsicle for dinner....that's after passing up an entire can of 7-UP we offered...which around here, is a big treat.