Driving by a large church, fairly elaborate by Norman standards, Emma pointed to it and asked, "Is that a castle?"

A few days later, as we went to visit a preschool, she kept insisting that she'd seen lots of the letter T. Em points out letters, shapes, words and logos wherever we go, so I didn't think much about it. I just told her I hadn't seen them.

On our way back from lunch, down the same street, I noticed a trio of large crosses. "Em, are those the T's you saw?" "I told you! I told you there where three T's!"

I just agreed that, in fact, there were three T's.

We do talk about Christianity, given that none of her young friends are Jewish, and even more so during the recent holidays. But we've got enough on our hands explaining our own religion to her. I think we'll hold off on the whole crucifixion tale for a while.

Last night, a fellow mom and I stood talking in the cold, comparing the recent stomach bugs our kids have had. As we walked toward our cars, she said, "Keep warm!" I responded, "You too!" without a thought.

Wondering what I forgot? Read the rest of the story at DotMoms.

After 13 hours of labor and an emergency C-section during which the spinal block and pain meds didn't work and Sally could FEEL EVERYTHING, Thomas Dean was born. At a whopping 10 pounds, 15.5 ounces, no less.

Everyone is happy and healthy. Best wishes to the brand-new family.

This animation makes me laugh. And I don't feel like I should explain that it's because someone took the time to do it, not because man-on-man is inherently funny. (Somehow, I'm explaining anyway.) Now you're scared. It's not porn, I promise.

Be sure to check out the LOTR and Buffy/Angel variations, too. They're equally hilarious. Or maybe more so, because of Nicholas Brendan's upcoming role. (There is even a separate vamp Xander file. This animator covers all his bases.)

If only there were one that crossed movies, for Aragon and Will ...

Thanks to Taylor for the link. And to Tiff for pointing out I'd combined Xander's and Nicholas' last names. Whoops.

Send your best thoughts toward New Mexico today, where my dear friend Sally is in labor. Thomas is seven days past due today, so the process to urge him out began this morning.

I'll jump every time the phone rings today, I'm sure!

So, it's that time. We're observing preschools, so that we can get Emma enrolled and started in the fall. Sigh.

We visited our first one today, and Em was enthralled. She loved everything about it --- the painting, the dress-up clothes, the games, the playground, the huge snack, the cute little building. And the kids, oh, the kids. She made some fast friends quickly on the playground, and her big Little Bit (one of two stuffed cats named after one of our real ones) was rechristened Molly at naptime today. As we left the building, she proclaimed, "I want to go to (school name here) every day."

Adam and I loved seeing her so enthused, in such a fun setting. The teachers in the 3-year-old class have worked together for nearly 10 years, and the preschool itself is a Norman institution. It looks like we can get in for fall ... maybe. If we decide quickly. Enrollment starts in February for families already in the system, and open enrollment a couple weeks later. But folks can turn in registration forms now, and it's first come, first served once it's open. We're lucky it's even an option, because some of the preschools around here have waiting lists of up to TWO YEARS.

We're visiting a Montessori school next week, just to see the differences. The one we saw today didn't have as many "academics" as I'd expected (and yes, I do know she's not yet 3). But it was much more social and play, and yes, I get there's a lot she can learn from that, as well. I just thought there would be more of a curriculum for me to evaluate. The school clearly espouses "free learning" with unstructured play. Though we loved it -- particularly the 50,000 square feet of backyard play space and the teachers -- Montessori, with its more structured activities, may be more in line with what we expect from a preschool.

Though as a friend pointed out last night, wherever she goes, we'll still be her primary teachers for a while. What a nice thought. And as she's in private day care, with only one other child, preschool will likely more about being in a group setting than anything else. And I'm glad we're in Norman, where it's not like we have to apply and get accepted and there's a huge hierarchy of coolness based on which preschool we choose. It's not going to set her entire future. Still, the whole idea is daunting. Given that the only private school options in our area are Christian, we know she'll be trekking to grade school just a few blocks away. Guess we can't screw her up too badly with a preschool pick ...

Em's library basket (in the sidebar) is belatedly updated. We've been a little busy around here ...

As I shoved vomit-splattered clothes and linens in the washer or exhausted the last of the air freshener trying to mask the diarrhea reek, I consoled myself with the at turns pithy and profound post I'd write about the weekend.

I'd chronicle the myriad places Emma spewed -- the dining room, the yard, the den, the kitchen sink, her room, our room, the bathroom, bathroom, bathroom. I'd muse about being able to watch her sleep, our girl who never dozes in the car, never nods off during a book or movie. (Emma only sleeps in a bed, with the proper rituals first.) This weekend, she'd be in dreamland five seconds after closing her eyes, wherever she was. She took catnaps in our bed and on the couch, snoozed in my arms in her room. And I got to rock her tired body while she slept soundly against me, her puke breath wafting slowly over me each time she exhaled.

I had a lot to say about the nature of illness, family-spread in particular, as this one started gently in Adam and ravaged my daughter. We all huddled closely at home, riding out the effusive storm, learning a lot about each other, our strength as a family, blah, blah, blah.

And then I got it. Suddenly, waxing nostalgic lost most of its appeal. I can candy-coat Emma's nonstop puking, gloss over Adam's glazed eyes and pale-as-death skin. But detailing my own emissions, particularly with my stomach still gurgling and rumbling, just doesn't sound fun, for me or for you.

So I'll just leave it at this: It's been a rough few days. Adam's himself again, Em's much better. We visited her doctor's office yesterday, and even though I needed a bathroom every five minutes, I went. I had myself convinced they'd put her in the hospital for dehydration if I wasn't there. But she hasn't hurled since she crawled out of her bed at 5 a.m. yesterday and Adam and I found her in the bathroom, headed for the toilet. (She hadn't had a stomach bug like this since she was under a year old, so this was a crash course. After a few voluminous mishaps early on, she handled it like a trooper, and it all could've been much worse if she hadn't. As Adam was praising me for my tender care of her, I said, "I'm just trying to do whatever she asks." His reply: "We don't have to say no nearly as much when she's not active." I doubt there's any chance her pleasant attitude of the last few days will stick, but a mom can dream.)

And I'm better, too. Not 100 percent, but I do feel lucky it didn't strike me or Adam the way it did Em. It's a good thing it came in stages -- I was able to take care of him and keep Emma occupied while he was at his worst, then we both focused on our poor, poor daughter, and she was mostly on the mend by the time I was crying on the bathroom floor. (We learned that Emma also cries when she pukes. Must be hereditary.)

A friend who has an infant with an ear infection and a preschooler with strep just told me she used us as the "It could be Much Worse" example to her husband.

I think we win the Much Worse Award for a while.