The Sick Post & Still More Things They Say

This isn't a real post.  This is me being overwhelmed and, therefore, WAY behind on everything.  Hi! How ya doin'?

The past month has been one long sick-fest in this house.  (Hence the month-long break in any sort of posting or writing 'round here.)  The Big One caught a nasty case of 90-year-old-emphysema-hack at preschool, and then he brought it home.  And he shared.  He shared with all of us.  So kind to share.

So then the Little One caught it, and it turned quickly into croup.  Goddamn, croup is the worst.  It's terrifying and sad and means that the croupy kid gets zero sleep.  Which means that one or both parents get zero sleep.  Which usually means that one or both parents get the thing that started the croup.  Which is exactly what happened.  Sonofabitch.

Thankfully, this round of croup only lasted about three days, but the hack and runny nose and generally shittyness lasted well beyond that.  All told, we were stuck at home because of one kid or another for two weeks.  TWO WEEKS.  Have you ever been stuck in house with two sick kids and a sick you for two godawful weeks?  Let me give you some ground-breaking information: It sucks.

We watched so much PBS Kids and Sprout and Disney Jr. that I thought all of our brains were going to explode.  Even the KIDS got tired of T.V.  That does not happen.  There was water, and tea and juice and soup and no one wanted any of it.  There were blankets and kleenex and snot smears on everything.  And whining.  So. Much. Whining.  The kids were whiny, too.

And then, just when everyone started to get better and feel human again, the Big One got nauseous on the swings during a park date with his dad, and puked all over the car.  And you know what sucks even more than two weeks of house arrest?  Puke in a car.  And trying to get puke OUT of a car.  It's no small feat, my friends.  Booster seat covers- not washable.  Actual seats in the car?  Spot clean, only.  Seat belts?  IMPOSSIBLE TO CLEAN.  Even the end-all, be-all of puke cleaning- the MAGICAL Nature's Miracle (no seriously, it is amazing, and they didn't even pay me to say that)- couldn't get the puke smell out of the seat belt.  That little bugger got soaked 3 times AND wiped down with soap and water AND got a good Febreezing... and it still smells a bit vomity.

If you teach your children nothing else, teach them to vomit AWAY from the seat belt.

Or, better yet, teach them to TELL YOU when they're going to vomit.

But you guys, in spite of all those bodily fluids and all the whining and the general ick, something amazing happened.  Some good came out of this darkness.

And here it is: The Little One learned to use his Coughing Corner.  It's a whole new world, people.

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And here are some cute things my kids are saying lately:

Little One
-fweet = sweet
-pupcakes = cupcakes
-fweeszers = scissors
-schrank = drink

While eating a salami sandwich: "Lawmi!  Deeeeewishus!"

Big One
- mackin = napkin

-Explaining digestion: "When you eat something, if it's too hot, you spit it out.  If it's too cold, you spit it out.  If it's just right, you swallow it and it goes down your mouth, into your froat, and into your belly.  Then it goes around your belly, to your pooper section."

Your pooper section.  The more you know, people!

Love Letter

Dear Sweet Boys,

I love you.  I really do.  Sometimes I can hardly contain the amount of love I have for the two of you.  I want to swoop you up and cover you with kisses.  I want to hug you until the sun goes down.  I want to sing to you and smooth your hair and play with your little fingers and toes.

But I can't.  Because you keep making that awful hooting sound.  You know the one.  The one can shakes the bones of my skull.  The one that makes my eye twitch and my blood pressure go through the roof.  The one that I ask you- over and over, every single day- to STOP MAKING.  That hoot.

Quit it, please.  It's horrible.  It makes me crazy.  It gets in the way of my adoring you.  Nothing you do will ever make me stop loving you, but when the two of you start hooting together, I'm afraid my head will explode.

So remember: I love you, and no hooting.  Ever.

Thank you, my darlings.
Mama

Guest Contributor: Rattle & Pen

I am honored to announce that I am the first guest contributor over at the amazing Rattle & Pen.  Please take a moment to read my essay, "Raising Feminist Sons," here.

I am a huge fan of the talented women writers at Rattle & Pen and I feel privileged to join them.  The pieces found here speak to the experiences of so many of us.  Read through and see for yourself.

Enjoy!
Shannon