We're home. We're tired. I'm sick. I think I caught whatever Jack had that made him throw up on the drive home from Vancouver.
Katie refused to sit by Jack. Specifically, she said, "I'm not sitting next to threw-up boy!" Vic came up with better names but couldn't decide if he liked "Pukey Galore" or "Lord Vomitbottoms" better. Jack just sat there looking green and, I now realize, passed his barfing cooties up toward me.
I loved Victoria and the other parts of B.C. we saw, though I'm leery of getting too cozy in a country that would make Celine Dion and Gordon Lightfoot national heroes.
More later...
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