Friday, November 03, 2006

Trois

Now that G is finally more comfortable with school (ie, not shrieking and monkeying up my leg as soon as we near the door), he has conveniently become grossly ill, and thus unable to attend school. He's not so ill that he wants to rest quietly--heaven forbid he get any extra sleep! No, he's just ill enough to periodically squirt poop out of his Pull-Up, then continue his (now stinky) reign of terror.

Yesterday I was also ill, though fortunately not with G's squirty-bum problem. My symptoms were more along the lines of raging-headache-and-narcoleptic-tendency. I kept dozing on the couch, waking to find the house in greater and greater chaos. Often the kids would be mysteriously absent, while the muffled crinkling of Halloween candy wrappers emanated from behind the closed pantry door. I was just glad they were being quiet.

Unfortunately, after a few pit stops in the crinkly pantry, they were anything but quiet. They were careening from crazy game to crazier game, pausing only to shriek at one another in either rage or glee--it was becoming harder to tell which was which. My strategy of lounging on the couch, imperiously commanding them to "hush please," and frequently falling asleep was no longer effective. They were officially Out Of Control. And their father was working late.

Bedtime was too painful for me to revisit here. Let's just say that eventually they collapsed, and leave it at that. I went to bed as soon as I was sure they weren't faking it, waiting for me to sleep so they could get up and resume the crazy-making. I awoke this morning to G, who'd clambered onto my bed, oozing poop from his Pull-Up. Goody.

There is no moral to my story. There really isn't even a point. Wait, there's a point--three days down! Twenty-seven to go! Woohoo!

And it only took me three days to get into the poop-talk.

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