It's been absolutely gorgeous lately, so this morning we packed the car and headed for the beach. Oli stripped to his underwear and was having the time of his life, cruising around on the sand, splashing in the cold water, racing away from oncoming waves. I was with him as he inched further and further out on the wet sand toward the receding surf. I could see the tide gathering itself and knew he was in for an unpleasant surprise - likely two or three waves on top of one another. He turned to run just as I took off for him. The surf knocked him off his balance and "rolled him," as he later recounted. There was a moment, just before I picked him up, of sheer terror in his eye. The guy's usually fearless, and Amanda and I have said it'd be good for him to know that certain things should be feared - he learned this one the hard way.
The rest of the day was pleasant, until he started crying out around 10pm. He didn't nap today and was exhausted, so we were surprised to hear him. It was probably the heat making him uncomfortable - last night, despite my urging to wear the short-sleeved octopus pajamas, Oli chose the winter-themed flannel (of course). Amanda went in to find he'd thrown up ALL OVER the place. The boy was pretty shaken up. We bathed him and his room reeks, so we set him up in the guest room tonight and introduced the concept of "the bucket."
Tough day for the kid. I hope he gets some good sleep tonight.