Wednesday, March 2, 2016

Get You Gone, Son

In addition to the pinkeye (which has miraculously not manifested in anyone else . . . yet), Cubby also had a fairly nasty cold that put him out of commission yesterday. Fever, naps on the couch, the whole bit. He was already home with the pinkeye, so it was just the icing on the cake. If the cake is an oozing, snotty pile of infectious diseases.

Yum. Who wants some infectious cake?


He was most definitely not in any shape for school yesterday. This morning when he got up, he seemed a bit wilted, though he had no fever and his eye looked totally recovered. Still, I thought he seemed tired and maybe could do with another day of rest.

Then he woke up all the way.

After a full ten minutes of annoying voices from him at breakfast, in addition to the usual talk of smelly bottoms and poo-poo gas (this is never-ending and incredibly annoying), plus some menacing of Charlie's stuffed sheep and two episodes of being sent to his room, I decided he was ready to go to school.

Or maybe I was ready to have him go to school. Whatever. The end result is the same: He's at school. Charlie is at school. Jack is asleep. And I have five million dishes to wash.

Peace out.

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