Scrambled Eggs**

**please be aware that this post contains gross child related content. those of you with weak tummys...just be prepared...

Yesterday started out as every Sunday does. Brett got up, then Hazel, then they had to con Mommy out of bed. Sunday mornings in America were always Church then Brunch at Bob Evans. Well, Hazel and I have attempted church 2ce here. The first time was a disaster. The 2nd was no less a disaster, but it was for a friend's baptism, so we endured. The thing about church here is that they don't have nursery's during the service. So I wrestle a antsy 2 year old, then take her to the narthex so she doesn't interrupt other parishoners, so I don't hear any of the sermon. Not worth it. I don't go to church for Bonus Points or to look good. I go to learn and be closer to God, and as that doesn't happen with a 2 year old and no nursery, we just don't go. Grill me all you want, but if you expect me to go when I can't be there for the proper purpose of going to church, then maybe YOU aren't going for the right reasons. End of story.

Anyway, back to my story...

Sunday mornings are dedicated to our family since we can't go to church, and we do our best to get to Breakfast between 9 and 10:30. Ulster Fry (google pics, it's a big heart attack on a plate) is Brett's fave meal over here, and Cafe Spice has the best we've found up to this point, so we get dressed and go!

We get there, get settled at our "usual" table, and I go order our breakfast. Brett's never changes, and Hazel's always varies between Eggs and Peem Peems (Pancakes...ask Brett), and mine is never the same now that I'm preggo and can't have fried eggs (I want runny yolks, none of this cooked all the way through business), so after figuring out what H wants, I go up and order for us.

Yesterday she wanted eggs, so I got her scrambled eggs.

Now, let me preface by saying that scrambled eggs over here...regardless of where you get them...are gross. As in, really really nasty, think really bad hospital/airplane scrambled eggs. I don't know what the collective masses over here do to their scrambled eggs, but they're either insanely watery (not under done watery, like soaked in water watery) or feta cheese dry. Both are equally nasty. But I digress...

She got her eggs, I got my bagel, and Brett got his fry.

We were happy.

We were together.

Life was good.

We were almost done with breakfast and Hazel got a very strange look on her face, then proceeded to let out this enormous belch. She giggled, we tried not to laugh (twas impossible) and let her know she should say, "excuse me," and then the funny look returned.

Without warning, scrambled eggs projectiled out and down. All down her front, all over the place.

And it smelled.

to this pregnant woman, it smelled so bad that Brett had to clean it up as I couldn't even be near the table (have I mentioned what an incredible hubby and daddy Brett is? Not lately? Oh, let me tell you he is by far the best and most amazing...hey, he cleaned up scrambled egg puke and didn't complain).

Breakfast was over. That fast.

Need a quick exit for a meal? Take a 2 year old and encourage her to vomit. Will do the trick every time.

All the way home she complained of her tummy hurting. We got home, got her some water, changed her into Jammies and she laid on the couch watching Tinkerbell for about 45 minutes, just being mellow. Near naptime, she acted better, and post naptime she was great.

We decided to end our Sunday with a family movie. It was our first family movie and it went great. Hazel inhaled a large popcorn, which was amusing, and luckily didn't end in a tummy ache. We watched Alvin and The Chipmunks 2, which, in it's defense was the perfect movie out for Hazel and was significantly better than the first. Worth taking your kids to.

That was our Sunday. Interesting, but memorable.

That's all I ask for any day of the week...