The time is 10:03 and I know this because I wonder why the house is so quiet on a Sunday morning. The night before, the boys had chosen to sleep in "Grandma Lynnie's room" (aka: spare room) so I knew when the sun came up they'd be awake. Regardless, I get up, go to the toilet, as I hear feet approaching.

And there he stood. Griffin, the ghost. He was not dressed in the PJs he had so excitedly put on the night before (Mario Brothers). Instead he donned footie winter jammies. Before I had a chance to speak, the ghost spoke.

"I puked in Gramma Lynnie's bed cause I wasn't feeling very well. Also, I farted in my Mario jammies .... (starts to cry) but it was a poooooooop bommmmmb."

The next 18hrs was filled with puking, dry heaving, napping, more puke. Poor little pale-as-a-ghost Griffin. I'm happy to report he's much better and went back to school today.