In Which There are Tissues
Viruses abound in our world right now. As I type, the man is down the hall, coughing his way through a bedtime story. Having lead the way on our latest and rather ordinary adventure in wellbeing, he reads this story to a febrile Eldest, whose classic strep has turned into the more dramatic scarlet fever, courtesy of what was in fact, bacteria. A young rebel, that one.
Down the hall from them, stubbornly clinging to my mattress (yes, we have bedrails, and no, there are no pillows), is the snot-nosed wee one, snuffling his way through a restless sleep. A thermometer lurks in his future.
And here I sit, stiff-necked and sore, headachy (itchy!!?) and wondering: what happens when the Mama topples over? Taking care of the wee ones, I've been coughed on, used as a tissue, underslept (despite some valiant efforts by the Man) and oh, but the future looks wonky for me, too. Or is that the present?
Ugh. I am going to bed. I am not making plans with magid, I am not finishing Havelok (when, when will it end? and has anyone noticed the patchwork of dialects in the dratted thing? Gives me a headache just reading it). No, no, no, no. Early bedtime tonight. Which is easy, considering that there are no school lunches to prepare, alas. And perhaps with the extra sleep, the thought of two more days straight with this germ-ridden, cranky bunch will actually be manageable.
Mind you, for a germ-ridden gang, they are awfully sweet. But beware the knock-knock jokes. Those'll tip you right over the edge.
In Which We Rename the Babes:
officially toddling now, the babes is outgrowing his tiny self, becoming a lustily moving figure, hands comically mid-air. So it is time to rename him, and so we shall call him....the Toddles. Because so he will be, for the next two years, at which point he'll lose the diaper that creates that comic waddle.
Love that waddle...