It took me two hours longer than my sister to pack for vacation partially because I had a two year old underfoot and partially because that two year old (and his sister) have celiac, so we had to pack the gluten-free bread, the gluten-free hot dogs, the gluten-free cereal, the gluten-free cookies. . .you get the picture.

With the microwave and the toaster, we could have just lived off our own stocks, but we were on vacation. Everyone else was ordering chicken fingers and onion rings (ok, I was ordering the onion rings); we wanted some junk food our kids could eat. French fries—basically oil and salt with a little potato thrown in, we figured the worst that could happen was gas and water retention.

Unfortunately, we were not diligent parents; we did not ask to read the label on the French fry bag to see if these fries happened to be coated with flour, i.e. poison to our children.

Rose is asymptomatic. Who knows how many mistakes we've made with her? David's body lets us know. It's been three days and the disgusting icko four times a day poop is starting to taper off. For the most part, David's mood has stayed pretty cheerful. When he was a whiny miserable crazy boy yesterday, I figured I was paying for my mistake.

From now on it's potato chips and ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream.