I can't make this stuff up!

I'm tucking the twin Fries in for naps.  Medium Fry has come up without her duckie, mad because we said it was naptime.  "But Duckie doesn't wanna nap!  He wants to weawr a dwess!"

"Fine," I told her.  "Duckie can stay down here and wear a dress.  But you are going to take a nap."

Of course, her not wanting Duckie changed by the time I got them both upstairs.

I tucked them in, performed the ritual asking of which blanket they wanted to be covered with first (the one Gramma made, or the one I made), turned on the classical music, and hugged both Fries.

Small Fry insisted on having the "doowr a little closed," which means I close it until I can't close it anymore, because her big stuffed basset hound, Toby, is in the way.  (Toby used to belong to my oldest nephew.)  Toby, however, was nowhere to be found.

"He's in youwr wroom!" Small Fry said indignantly, as if I should have magically known.  I'd been in there before, looking for her little piggy, and hadn't seen him.

I went back and looked again.  Sure enough, there was Toby.  The reason I couldn't see him is because our fluffy kitty Minou--real weight 17 pounds, but looks about 25--had snuggled up with him to snooze.  (Too bad I left my phone downstairs.  It would've been a cute picture.)

I brought Toby back to the Fries' room and explained he'd been napping with Minou.  Then I shut the door up to Toby, and promised I would look for Duckie and bring him back up.

"He's inna cyoobe," Medium informed me.  "A gween cyoobe."  (We have brightly colored canvas cubes in the toy room for storage.)  "He's saying, 'Medium, help me!'"

I headed downstairs to find the errant Duckie.  Small Fry called out urgently, "You didn't get da monstwers out!"

"I'll do that when I bring Duckie up," I reassured her.

Sure enough, I found Duckie exactly where Medium said he was, in one of the green canvas cubes.  (Shocking.  Usually, when she "stashes" him someplace, she doesn't remember where.)  And he wasn't wearing a dress.  At least I don't have to worry about Duckie having an identity crisis.

Back upstairs, I peek in the door, and then shake Duckie a little so he rattles, which gets Medium's attention and earns a huge grin.  I "fly" him into the room and tuck him under her arm while she giggles.

And then I cross my pinkies and prepare to perform the monster exorcism.

"All unfriendly monsters, unfriendly giants, unfriendly wombats, unfriendly everything," I intone solemnly, "it's time to get out!  Woo-ah!" And, as per ritual, I kick with my right foot.

Medium looks up at me.  "Da wombats licked you!" she crowed.

"Eeeeeeeew," I said, making a face.  I smiled and moved to the door.

"Tell da wombats to leave you alone."

"Leave me alone, wombats!"

Small Fry wasn't about to be left out of this.  She gave me an impish grin.  "Da wombats awre in youwr tuchus and in youwr giwrl pawrts!"

I decided I wasn't touching that one.  "Go to sleep!"

Hubby's startled expression when I told him where Small said the wombats were pretty much mirrored my own thoughts.  ;)

Blog Posting has been hijacked...

...by two days of payroll and billing insanity (newsletter insanity to commence tomorrow), preceded by a week of repetitively sick children, and capped off with a total lack of motivation, inspiration, and general oomph required to do anything other than stare blearily at the laptop screen.

Witty repartee will commence again ... er ... soon.

As soon as I don't think I'm running a fever.

Awwww Factor

Something crept through the nebulousness of sleep, just before 6:30 this morning.  I shifted in bed, blinked, and registered a stainless steel bowl in the vicinity of my hip.  Moving my gaze up, I saw Small Fry.  She blinked at me, I smiled, and I went back to sleep.

But as it often is when one of the kids joins us in bed early in the morning, my sleep was fitful.  I woke again about 15 minutes later...only to find that Small Fry had snuggled up, spoon-like, to Hubby's back and was sound asleep.

Awwwww.

It's nice to know she feels confident that just being with us makes her feel better.

Hat Trick!

Once again, my kid has confounded the "normal appearance" of strep throat.

Despite not having a strep-looking throat, that is exactly what Small Fry has.

And we do not have enough couch space for all three kids, especially since Small Fry needs to lay down with the company of a lovely stainless steel bowl.

Thank goodness Large Fry goes back to school tomorrow.

And so...

I journey to the doc's yet again today.

Small Fry is the only one of my kids who tends to puke when she gets strep.

And given that she's camped out on the couch and not wanted to do anything else, she took a short nap this morning, my stainless-steel Dutch oven has been pressed into service, and she only wants me, I decided it was wise to call the doc today.

My poor baby.

White Lips

Not what I needed to see today.  And certainly not what Small Fry wants to be feeling.

The Fries have been sick-ish.  I thought it was just a cold, but after a week of Large Fry's nasty hacking  cough, and Medium having had it for three to four days, I took them both to the doc yesterday.  (Small Fry, not yet coughing or having any other complaints, stayed home.)

Surprise, surprise.  Medium Fry is glowingly positive for strep.  Large Fry, only faintly so; the pediatrician suspected that she might be carrying the virus without actually having it, since all of their other symptoms suggested a cold.

I did not believe my thermometer this morning when it gave me Small Fry's temp.

And her lips are now as pale as her face.

That's just not a good sign.

I think I'll check her temp again, and then decide if I'm calling the doc.  Again.

Two Squares

We seem to have acquired a toilet-paper elf, who sneaks in at odd hours and makes off with large quantities of toilet paper.

Or it's the kids, using waaaaaaaaaaaaay more than they need to.  Or that they're allowed.

I'm betting more on the kids than the elf, especially after we battened down the hatches and still went through a double roll in less than 24 hours.

It was the kids.

They are limited now to two squares of toilet paper when they pee, four if they have to wipe their bottoms.

This morning, Hubby was getting Large Fry ready for school.  The twins had clambered in bed with me about 8, wanting to watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  Not long after that, Medium asked if she could go potty.

Oh, by all means.  Please.  Go potty.

Hubby was trying to hustle Large Fry through breakfast and getting ready to get on the bus, and writing a note to Large's teacher and the lunch room lady (they had screwed up and allowed Large Fry to charge a breakfast, and they're not supposed to do that), when Medium starts shouting.

"Uncle!"

"Uncle!"

"Uncle!!"

"Uncle!!!"

"UNCLE!!!!!"

"WHAT?!" Hubby shouted, having no idea what could possibly be so important that she had to tell  him when I'm upstairs and a lot closer.

"I got two squares," Medium happily informed him.


*facepalm*