This morning some of my hair got caught in the crossfire of my son's projectile. I thought long and hard about whether the few hairs that dipped in his spit up were worth washing all my hairs. Reason won out. A high bun covers a multitude of sins (thank you, ballerina days! Even if my face does look insufferably round with my hair pulled back). The sheets, changed yesterday because of a different projectile incident, caught just a bit of the vomit. Certainly not enough to warrant another change; another load of laundry washed strategically between the rainy days we are having to ensure they have enough time to dry. I didn't miss having a dryer until baby came.