Tuesday, December 21, 2010


I'm sick. Ugh. No matter how many sanitary precautions I take, all efforts become futile when my sickly toddler snots on my face and says, "Love you, Mommy." How could I possibly turn him away when he lifts up his arms, pokes out his bottom lip, and says, "I hold you, peas?"

As everyone knows, when Mom gets sick, it's every man for himself. Those dirty dishes from dinner? Yeah, you know where the sink is. Need a new shirt? There's probably one in the dryer, your dresser, or in the closet. Hungry? Hotdogs are in that drawer in the fridge. Not that one. The other one. With the cheese and the lunch meat. Good job.

I'm not neglectful (is that a word?) of my kids or anything.  I love those guys.  I get them drinks and I feed them meals and I change diapers. They're big enough to do some things on their own, though. Snacks are on the bottom shelf of the pantry for a reason.

Of course, eventually throughout the day I get little spurts of feeling better (or at least where my head doesn't feel like it'll explode as easily). During these moments I throw a load of towels in the wash or empty the dishwasher. So my house isn't a total wreck yet. But who knows what tomorrow will hold?

I'm hoping this "cold" is indeed just a cold and not some mutant virus with plans to take over my family. So far, so good, but I've seen it happen before. One of us gets the sniffles and by the time the last person gets sick, it's pneumonia. Well, ok, maybe not pneumonia, but close. I'm only the second one sick. Hubby has a feeling he'll get the pneumonia. And certainly on Christmas. Why? Because that's the way it happens in our household.

OK, so I'm rambling on now.. Gonna get off here and spend some time with the hubbs before I lapse into my benadryl coma. Goodnight, folks!

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