My poor littles. Okay, and yeah, my poor me. This being sick for the 20th time this winter season thing? It sucks for all involved. (You didn't know May was considered winter in Wisconsin? Huh, me neither, what a fun surprise!) There's the coughing. And the sniffling. And the 8,567 balled up Kleenexes scattered around the house. And the fussiness that turns otherwise lovely little littles into beastly creatures that smack their sister and dump the dog water bowl down the heating vent. And my throat that feels like I ate, like, a Christmas tree light, not like anyone in our house would EVER do such a thing. Oh, and of course, there's the rancid antibiotic diarrhea. You're welcome for that.
So, obviously, Tuesday didn't end up being much better than Monday. On Tuesday, I woke up a full hour earlier than we usually wake up, because A was awake and hysterically screaming. (Because, as I found out minutes later, he was naked, had peed on his legs, and had a nose crusted shut with boogers. I'd have been screaming, too, if I were naked and covered in pee and boogers.) As I hurried of bed, my foot landed in something wet. Neon yellow dog barf. (What is that dog EATING? I don't feed him anything neon yellow. Or anything not brown, actually, so what the hell?) No good day starts with your foot in neon yellow dog barf and a stumbly one-footed hop into the bathroom before you're even fully awake (nor breathing out of your nose on both sides). So not to be totally Debbie Downerish, I'll just say this: we survived. We snuggled and we Sesame Streeted and we took a nice long Benadry-induced nap. (Doctor's orders! Who am I to question the doctor? She went to doctoring school!) And I tried to remind myself to just soak up the extra snuggles, because one day, I'll miss these days. Maybe not so much the diarrhea and boogers, but for sure the wiggly snuggle of a warm two year old getting comfy in my lap to read his favorite "Tinky-Face" book, and the sweet fuzzy head of a one year old resting on my shoulder as she regains consciousness from a Benadryl nap, peeking up at me with her rosy cheeked, sleepy little smile. They're pretty sweet, boogers and all. But I'd prefer no boogers, so if we could magically get better in time for Zumba tomorrow, I'd be VERY okay with that.
This picture pretty much sums up the day: kleenex, teddy, blankie, jammies.
Thank goodness a sweet friend of ours handed down some fun doll gear last week. (Thanks again, Heidi!) The stroller, in particular, has proved to be a great distraction. When they're not fighting over it, I mean. (Yeah, more on that in another post. We've entered a new phase, and it's called "MINE I WANT IT NOW MINE STOP TOUCHING IT MINE!")
"Who me? Smack my sister?"
And here's what a playroom looks like after 12 hours of stir crazy toddlers trashing it like a frat house basement on a Friday night. As I write this, my saintly husband is upstairs putting it back together, because I pretty much told him I was going to jump out that big window on the right if I had to look at that mess for ONE MORE SECOND.