Srsly. Every. Year.
Last year, it hit this same week prior to a trip with family to Oklahoma.
This year, I was happily (more or less) chopping down trees and hauling off trunks and parts, repairing smart devices, writing, maintaining my end of the family taxi service, night duty, burning random things on our burn pile, music, etc. ad infinitum when I procured the sinus infection months ago.
Nevertheless I kept on with my usual schedule thinking I had paid my yearly medical dues until the fateful day arrived. I had actually forgotten about the whole concept when I left for the usual Friday silliness (drive Baba to get blood drawn, drop her off, go get Squib, drive back to get Baba, pick her up, ruin an entire day for everyone, yay cancer) and I remember thinking to myself, "My throat is scratchy from all this extra singing and dancing jazz. Odd."
Famous. Last. Words.
By the time I had completed the round trip I was wondering if coffins were soundproof because maybe I could get some good sleep in there until I was actually ready to use it. Unfortunately, this is one of those viruses that you don't sleep through unless it's in fifteen minute snatches while gasping on the floor of the bathroom.
Squib asked me what we were going to do this weekend and I promptly answered, "I don't care."
His reply was, "Really?" Grin.
"Yes, really." I was mid-crawl onto the sofa which looked a lot like Mecca at that point and if you know anything about my relationship with the sofa you now know a lot about how I'm feeling. I had a down comforter, a crocheted blanket, and a quilt over me and my teeth were chattering. "You can do whatever you want as long as you don't break any of the rules."
Our rules are somewhat odd:
1. Don't run with a dinosaur in your mouth. This is mostly for Beanstalk.
2. Tripping a human or leaving your stuff out such that a human trips over it is punishable by death. Death, I tell you!
3. No yelling. I abhor yelling. And sometimes the yellers.
4. No making fun of people. Like, ever.
5. Don't stick out your tongue. I may tape it to your face. Or grab it with my hand and hang on. Or, as I once did with Squib, stick toilet paper to it. Ew. Puh-puh-puh-spit.
6. Adults have to follow the rules, too. Most don't. Well, they have issues with #3, to be honest, but mommy definitely follows them or her iPad goes on the fridge. This is bad.
"So I can draw? Dinosaurs? A lot of dinosaurs?" He asked. "Like a lot a lot of dinosaurs?"
"Knock yourself out." I literally gave him a ream of 8.5" x 11" and 13" x 19" paper and all the office supplies he could stand.
He set a land speed record for the number of dinosaurs drawn in under an hour. It had to be at least forty cajillion and he decided they were all dead and needed to be buried so he could dig them up so I had to stop watching and roll over because the effects of his imagination are both wonderful and terrifying. I do worry that the EPA will either come and get him or declare the living room a Superfund site. And then he built a mobile home with a trailer full of police cars to help find these dinosaurs and they all kept crashing.
Mayhem. Chaos. Delirium.
It was a child's dream weekend. Super hero movies. Dinosaur movies. More TV and movies than the last four months combined. A friend recommended Shopping Cart Hero 3. We did that because who doesn't like jumping a shopping cart off a hill and landing it? Naps. Oh I love naps. Naps save me from constantly having excited persons jump on my head or my stomach. Ew. And junk food for dinner because he kept requesting sustenance at regular intervals--the audacity!
Pizza Rolls. Hot dogs. Capri Sun.
Squib was supposed to practice his speech words 100 times. Which would have required me to count that high. Considering I got lost four times trying to rip a five song CD for someone else to sub for me today, I couldn't see me doing that with any accuracy, so we are repeating 'x' number of times and pretending it's 100.
Doctor. Acting. Snack Time.
Cactus. Tractor. Sticker.
He has to chop himself in the throat to help practice making the hard /k/ sounds in these words. He sometimes takes this a little too seriously and I was a little over tired and we started laughing so hard that neither of us could breathe. My apologies to Mrs. Archer for contributing to the delinquency of one of my minors. Again.
Everyone but Squib pretty much scattered like roaches in the light for the far corners of the house once I started lurking around looking like a study in seventies avocado. Oh, you're sick? Let me help you by vaporizing. Which is fine because over half of them have health reasons of their own that supposedly make their immune systems weak. But are they ever sick. No. Am I? Yes.
One day someone is going to have to explain that to me.
Bring on November.
Scat
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