Daddy fall down. Daddy fall down...stairs.

Eventful weekend!

Alastair and I started off Saturday morning with a trip to the playground. We took a soccer ball (you should see him dribble: it's amazing!) and played on the fire-truck jungle-gym. While we were there, we met a couple of gentlemen who are trying to start a Saturday morning pickup game. So on Saturdays, from 9 - 11am, I'm going to try to wrangle Amanda and Alastair over to the playground to watch & play some fun, relaxed soccer.

It'll give us something to do on those weekends that start slowly, and should help me get back into running. I'm thinking of running on Tuesdays & Thursdays, and playing soccer on Saturdays. That should be enough to prep me for any future 5K's.

Saturday afternoon I washed the cars. I'd never washed the CR-V before, or anything that requires a step-stool, so I learned a few things. But when I got started on the MINI, I went nuts. I washed. I waxed. I applied Rain-X. I applied Rain-X Anti-Fog to the inside of the windshield (doesn't work worth a crap). I dusted. I put tire-shine on the black plastic trim.

When it was all said & done, I'd spent about 5 hours outside, most of it in the sun without a shirt on, and only drinking about 1/2 a glass of water.

Later (shortly after dusk), Alastair wanted to go out and watch the bats. In my effort to take him downstairs to get my shoes, my heel shot off the 2nd step (of 5), and down we went. My back took most of the impact, making a really loud cracking sound, and it hurt to breathe. I was certain I'd cracked a rib, but more certain that I'd crushed Alastair's arm. His right arm had been wrapped around me when I started to fall.

I pulled him slightly away from me, looked him in the eye, and he started tearing up. I gingerly felt over his little arm, and it felt ok. Amanda took him from me to console him, and I lay there wondering if I'd broken anything. Ultimately I decided to get up, and nothing shifted strangely, so I got my shoes and we went looking for bats.

Even later that night, we ate a dinner that was undercooked (I inadvertently turned the oven off right before Amanda put it in), watched some TV, and I started to feel a little woozy. I went to bed feeling strangely hungry, but figured I simply hadn't eaten enough.

Sunday morning I woke up even more woozy, even slightly queasy. Amanda got the boy ready for church, and I went back to bed. 30 minutes later, I was praying to the porcelain god. I was weak and tired all day, had constant headaches, and only ate 2 pieces of toast, a bowl of soup, some applesauce and some jello.

Today I feel great. So was it food-poisoning? Exhaustion from too much time in the Sun? Dehydration? A concussion? All of the above?

Alastair spent all day yesterday telling me about it: "I fall down. Daddy fall down. Daddy fall down...stairs."