We have this plague in our house that bounces about from person to person, lingering mostly in the lungs, with occasional forays to the intestines. I’m thinking that if it stays with us much longer I can claim it as a dependent on next year’s tax forms. Come to think of it, the little bug moved in around the end of December, so perhaps I can claim him for this year too.
Combine this with the unusual ability of our sick children to be perky, jumping, running, yelling trouble machines during the day, only to give themselves over to illness at night, with constant coughing and requests for water and general whining wakefulness. That there is a recipe for disquiet. I don’t do well with disquiet.
On the other hand, Eli taught Isaiah this morning to use bananas like a telephone. Bananas are Isaiah’s favorite, so now when he walks around the house with a banana in his hand, he is very likely to stick one end in his ear and shout, “ello?” You ever dig banana out of a toddler’s ear? More to the point, did it ever occur to you — those of you with youngsters — that one day you would have to dig banana out of a toddler’s ear?
Forget parenting seminars and marriage workshops and all that adult education mumbo-jumbo that today’s modern busybody geniuses have dreamed up to make domestic life more manageable. I want a seminar on digging bananas out of ears. Sign me up for that one. But only after I’ve had a full night’s sleep.
