Thursday, March 18, 2010


Over the course of my 5.5 years of parenting, I have come to the conclusion that the stomach flu is pretty much rock bottom. Having it yourself takes you to the point where you literally might begin to wish death, and if your kids have it...well I can't think of many things worse than being vomited on by another human being. Add in the ever loving fear that you will catch it yourself and begin to wish for death, or the ever loving fear that your other children will catch it and begin to vomit on you as well, and you've got a situation so awful that I'd rather give birth and/or have a root canal than endure it.

Oh, and as a special token, our dryer broke. So I have veritable mountains of laundry piling up. Some with vomit, some without. We like to have a variety around here.

Sometime last week the preschool sent home a note that if your child has stomach flu symptoms, they are to be kept home for three whole days after the symptoms stop. Good grief. Now for the good of all, I don't mind abiding by this. I just wish everyone else would. Ahem. I will step off my soap box at this time.

So here we are, on Thursday. Mason can't return to school until Monday. And as if the broken dryer wasn't a special enough treat, Rey had to leave town for work. Super. We are stuck home in quarantine with no daddy to rescue us at dinner time.

As luck would have it, the weather's pretty good. So after a morning of fighting, screaming, ear piercing loud siren imitations, and the crushing of one's sister underneath a Pottery Barn Kids Anywhere chair, we headed out into the back yard. I took a chair and a People magazine out with me, at which point I thoroughly enjoyed sitting in the sun and breathing the fresh air. That is, until I realized that the three of them were standing there staring at me.

"Daddy plays with us," Mason says.

Oh super. Super, Super Daddy. How is he better than Mommy? Let me count the ways.

Despite the aforementioned little sister abuse, Mason can be really sweet with her. He kept lifting her into the wagon and after several rounds of lifting her in and out, he proclaimed his arms were so sore from doing that.

Cole decided he was too good for the paparazzi and offered a kindly view of his palm instead.

But Mason was pretty happy to pose, at least if he could make some faces.

Our yard is currently a little, shall I say, grass challenged. Inasmuch as large parts of it have none. The Old Man is in a constant cycle of ripping out the dead and replacing the sod, and we are currently in a "ripped out" stage with promises of sod coming this weekend which remains to be seen since he's currently six hours away.

Cole found a fat stick, which Mason promptly disarmed him of with threats that if he didn't relinquish the stick he wouldn't be able to watch Mason play Wii later. Apparently Cole really likes watching Mason play, because he handed it over without a blink.

At which point Mason started writing everyone's names in our dirt pit. (I can guarantee you Rey will use this story as proof for why having no grass is beneficial. You know, the education aspect and all.)

After all other outdoor options had been exhausted, I went to the last resort--the light sabers. I abhor these things. Strong enough words do not exist to properly parlay my hatred. But I decided to take one for the team.

And I was terrified for my life.

Those kids attacked.

I always hear them and Rey playing out there, making the voom voom noises and using their force (whatever the heck that means). But I very rarely will bear one myself. And for good reason because those kids were out for blood.

Look how gleeful his face is, so happy to be attacking his poor mother.

Cole thought it was super fun to attack me too. But if I decided to rally Mason against him, he cried and ran like a sissy.

Happy attacking...

Sad sissy.

Happy attacking (this time Lila's playhouse was his target)...

Really sad sissy.

Happy attacking...

Sad sissy.

And then Mason hit him in the face.

It was time to put these evil things away.

I have cabin fever.

I haven't spoken to an adult all day.

I can't wait until Saturday when our three days are up and I can go to the gym.

I have run out of trick in my book to keep these people occupied. At this rate I might have to pull out the dreaded paint.

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