It's been a bad few days fishing, that's for sure. I feel like the kids are part of a life-size "Whack-a-Mole" game. One kid is sick, she's better, she's sick again. In the meantime, the little lad starts getting sick, is better, then relapses. Meanwhile, eldest sits back and watches it all, content that younger siblings laid low means he can exert his rule as supreme leader of all under 5 (footers) with impunity. Spoken too soon, he's whacked down with a stomach bug.
It's early in the morning. We've made it through the night sans upchucking. "How much puke could a wood mole chuck if a wood mole could chuck puke?" But we have had our share of coughing fits. I am fond of using the saying a friend of mine once used on her husband, "There's no sympathy in this body." Feel free to make references to Joan Crawford when discussing me. If they'd just take the cough medicine, the fits would mostly cease.
Or maybe I'm really Britney Spears. [Fat chance that, eh?] Of course, I mean the mothering style. Or lack thereof. If I were the one in charge, if I were alpha mom, they'd bloody take the medicine when I said to. And, while I'm at it, they'd make their beds on their own, they'd always put away their junk, their rooms would always be tidy, and they'd eat all of whatever food I happened to prepare.
It could be worse. It really could. They are actually the healthiest kids I know. I thank God for that. Also, I could be living through this and juggling child care or calling in sick to work. Double the blessings. Or my mom could not be here visiting right now, lightening my load. Triple the blessings. My goodness, I am such a pessimist by nature and yet, here I am, seeing the positives. Quadruple the blessings today.