… gang oft agley.
For a week that will end in Burns night, a quote from the Bard of Scotland seems appropriate.
Let me start by saying how grateful I am that my sons now sleep through the night. I’ve realized in the last few weeks that I’ve stopped hearing them while I’m sleeping, instead of the hyper-alertness of the mother of an infant. Mmmmm sleep. (Pity my husband, who still does hear them.)
Anyway, last night my husband vaulted out of bed. In my groggy state, I couldn’t believe that morning was already here… it seemed like I’d just fallen asleep! I heard him getting Thane ready for school and wrapped my blanket more tightly around my ears, wishing he’d closed the door (like he normally does, considerate guy). (By the way, in case you ever think more highly of me than I deserve, let me assure you I’m the biggest, laziest morning-slug you’ve ever met.) Then my husband called for me.
Ugh. Really? I looked at my watch. 12:20.
Hm.
As I blinked the sleep from my eyes, I found a child covered in vomit and a husband struggling with child, bedding, etc. UGH. I’d like to take a moment to think of Grey, who may not have been potty trained by three but who got himself to the toilet/trash can to throw up nearly 100% of the time. Thane, sadly, is not so trained. Thane threw up another three times last night, every hour, just as we both fell back into deep sleep. So instead of my long list of stuff to do, I’m downstairs with a little boy who is quietly watching a personal all-day Scooby marathon. (I wonder if we have enough Scooby DVDs to watch all day long. I bet we do.)
I’m just hoping he’s well enough to go back to school tomorrow. On the one hand, I am annoyed that my precious time off is spent needing to provide childcare. On the other hand, so much more convenient when I don’t have to attempt to work or anything. On the third hand, my husband is also working from home today, and the kid has been quiet and well behaved so far. And of course finally, I love that little ScoobyDude of mine.
My Truant Pen 
Poor kid. Hope he feels better soon!
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reminds me of an incident involving my brother, his highly prized budweiser high-tops (strange, because he had given up drinking and started going to church), some red cool-aid, my middle son, about 8 at the time, and a nice rug. As you can guess, the poor little fellow came to us and said something like, “Don’t feel good…blah!” And proceeded to bazooka barf all over the rug. I laughed hysterically at my brother, with those absurd high-tops in the air as he frantically tried to avoid the stream. We tossed the carpet, but the high-tops and the lad survived….
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Remember Saturday nights in Prosser, with Matthew proclaiming quietly, “My throat hurts.” Then hurling all over everything. We took to wrapping him in towels on Saturday night. We never did figure out what it was about Saturday night …
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Wasn’t it bath night?
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Yes, but sometimes it was before the bath. And we gave him baths other nights without the same outcome. Mystery!
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I just read her post about Thomas the Tank Engine… htasericyl. I don't recommend eating or drinking if you're at her blog.Since you live in the same town, maybe your dream is prophetic?
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