Pip woke up with a tennis ball-sized lump on her neck.
I shook my hubby awake.
"I'm taking Pip to the Clinic.
Can you take care of the kids?
Are you aware enough to be in charge?"
Oh... TV..., yeah."
(For the record, he isn't normally inept at childcare. He really was laid out with a fever and chills.)
Eyeing my sadly oblivious husband,
I had the same talk with 5 year-old Winnie.
"Honey, you're in charge while I take your sister to the doctor.
Can you make sure Sugar Snack, the baby and Daddy are safe?"
(Yeah, I know, I know! I abandoned my kids. I left them alone. with their dad.)
Three hours and an ER visit later, we returned home to
"Daddy's throwing up!"
These are the sacred moments. Right?
They are sacred.
Even just for a laugh.
Especially when the lump looks to be nothing worse than strep throat,
which our entire family of six has, too.
And that's what brings me to the mystery of six.
Six weeks of being sick.
Six toothbrushes we should have thrown out after we beat the first sickness.
How did I not know this before?
That's all I've got.
No phenomenal words on writing.
Just a fever and strep throat times six.
And pictures of what to do when every one's sick:
Make your own bouncy house.
Clear out the living room, cover with pillows and mattresses.
Add a baby gym to make a tunnel.
Cover with quilts.