Spicy.

The other day I was interrupted in Oscar’s schooling by a retching noise coming from the bathroom.  "Excuse me," I said to Hannah, who was working with Ben on the other side of the table, and leaned back in my chair until I could see down the hall.  Milo was standing feet wide apart, bent at the waist, fists on his hips, throwing up on the floor.  "Stay there!  Lean over the toilet!"  I called.  "I’ll be there in a minute."  I went the long way round, to grab paper towels and cleaner on my way, and headed for the bathroom, wrinkling my nose against the telltale sour smell as I started to ask Milo if he was okay. 

Except there wasn’t a sour smell.  Instead, the bathroom was downright… fragrant.  Redolent of homemade apple pie, perhaps.   And … I’m sorry if this is too much information… the sad little puddle on the floor was suspiciously brown and powdery. 

I turned to Milo.  "Did you just eat a whole lot of cinnamon?"

"No, no, no," he told me, wide-eyed, as he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, leaving a brown smear.

I thought for a minute and changed my frown to a sympathetic expression.  "Milo, did you eat only one spoon of cinnamon?"

He grinned and nodded vigorously.  "Only one spoon."

I scolded him gently, cleaned it up, gave him some Pepto-Bismol, cleaned it up again a few minutes later, and he skipped off to play.  Later I found a tablespoon in the open jar of cinnamon.  It must’ve really been irritating.  I can’t think how he choked it down in the first place.