Life

Nothing exciting. Life. I feel lame saying that...as if I am complaining. Quite the opposite. A few times over the last few weeks, I have had the actual thought "I enjoy my life." And again, not to say that in the past I haven't. It's just that I have been too busy, and occupied..or scattered..to have it actually rise to the surface and sit there..with me aware of it.

Things are not perfect. Every one of us has had some version of a cold or flu this weekend. We are cursed. Gavin and I were talking about why it is that this winter it seems like our family has been hit so hard with bugs. And again, these are not life-threatening bugs...just annoy the pants off you bugs, where your nose is dripping like a faucet, and someone is always coughing in the background. I suggested that it is because we have nail biters/eaters. I know- it's disgusting. This one they inherited from Gavin, as the only reason I would ever think of touching my teeth to my fingernail, is if there were a giant shard of dark chocolate sticking out of it...and even that scenario is a stretch.

AND, to make matters worse, we also have nose pickers/eaters...double gross. This however, is a sin that I can say I did have a hand (or a finger) in. Many of my childhood pictures, until about the age of eight, are of me with some finger shoved in to a nose hole. My dad used to joke that it was like a bowling ball grip. Not sure what psychology I can use to explain away this one..except to say to my kids- I get you. I used to think that boogers were delicious too.

To be honest, it's not that they were delicious, per say. But rather, they were bugging me. I wanted a clean nose, and so I picked. But with the most convenient place to dispose of being the giant hole that was located right below, it just served the most logical purpose to dispose of them there. It's really efficiency you might say.

And so, here are my dually doomed children. Picking and eating every germ infested thing that they see. It's no wonder that they are picking up every dang cold in this county. Dalton swears that he's no longer a booger eater. I think that the third grade has shamed him in to giving up that sinful habit (I think that was the grade that did it for me too). Nothing like being called out in front of the whole cafeteria, when you are munching on a nice slimy one, to force you to kick the habit.

So, his nail biting, and the fact that he hangs out with mutually germy little boys, is the cause that I am assigning to his perpetual acquisition of bugs. And all you need is one..and then our whole family is hacking up a lung in order of who shared a cup with who last. And it sucks. Except for this time around..I almost don't care. It's lasting a few days..but not eternity. And other than that..things are great.

Well..things that don't include mine, or Garrett's quality of sleep. He is possessed. Actually he is wicked-smart. And I, at 1:00 AM, and 3:00 AM, and 5:00 AM am the dumbest sleep-walking zombie on the planet. This must be the kid who taught Pavlov a thing or two. He has it down to an art. His internal alarm clock goes off and reminds him that it's been a few hours since he's had a drink..or a hug..or any attention at all. And that really won't do. And so he shrieks. He wails. He moans. And it's not the blood-curdling type where I know he's gotten his little ham hock foot wedged in between the crib bars..but still it sounds traumatic. But then again..so do the bird's chirps at that ungodly hour.

So, I jump up. I don't want him to wake the kids, or Gavin, or die. And so I go, like bees to honey, to comfort him, and hand him a new bottle, and pick up his security blankie that he's dropped on the floor.

And I tell myself NEVER AGAIN! Never again, when it is still dark outside, and there is no reason for him to be awake, am I going to get out of bed and continue to be a party to this ridiculous behavior. I know better. And it's just a bad habit he is in. Probably born from the fact that his grandmother has been singing him to sleep when she watches him, whilst tickling him on the cheeks, cooing in his ear, blowing bubbles and rubbing the cat's fur on his arms. I don't know all the details..but I know it is AGAINST THE LAW...and she knows it, and it's EFFING up the whole routine of the house. But by gosh..it makes her feel good- so good for her.

I am impassioned right now because he is howling as we speak. He can hear the keys of my keyboard..and so he is holding out hope that tonight is not the last night of our secret late night rendezvous's. Oh, it's over big boy. The sneaking around is wearing on my nerves. I wake up with bags under my eyes. I can not take it any more. If you want a sane mother in the day, then I have to have my sleep at night...Oh good gracious. I am going to check on him ONE LAST TIME. THIS IS IT! I SWEAR.

Damn it. He's like a baby bird. It is so hard. Dalton and Shelby can sleep through it like it's a waterfall lulling them to sleep. The louder he cries, the louder they snore.

So, aside from illnesses, and lack of sleep, life is great. Dalton had half his tooth fall out this weekend. Took him to the dentist and they yanked the tooth. He was quite happy that his sickness level had just sky-rocketed to near-death. In our little family, it seems that there is honor in being declared "the sickest". Maybe it's because I usually relent with any and all rules when one of mine is truly sick. Fevers really kill me. I go limp. Break out the Capn' Crunch. Where's the remote?..cause it's TV all day and all night. Don't get dressed, or do your chores. Just lay there and let me serve you.

So I guess it's no wonder that there is some joy when Shelby asks "Am I now sicker than Dalton?...cause I just got sick, and he is getting better?" and I answer in the affirmative. It's like she just won the lotto.

So, when Dalton arises from the dentist's chair with a filling, and a hole where his half-tooth used to be, and has a piece of bloody gauze dangling from his lips, he is wearing a half smile. Shelby looks at him with awe. He does look a little like Frankenstein, what with the laughing gas not having worn off, and the ashen, sunken look of his pale face, after having practically fasted for the past few days due to loss of appetite.

And he looks at her like, "That's right..whose the sickest one now?..Booyah- back as numero-uno!!" So, he holds the gold for gauziest. Shelby is hackingist. And Garrett is hottest, and most miserable(ist). I have a runny nose today, but I will be damned if I am letting it turn in to anything other than the cause of my incessant sneezing. And Gavin is looking at all of us, as if he is living amongst a group of lepers who are attempting to wipe his face with our diseased bandages. He is envisioning these germs accompanying him oversees in his business travels at the end of the week. Oh, I am sorry. You didn't want a little sneezy-weezy with your cocktail and your warm towel? The In-flight movies, and the booby stewardess aren't nearly as nice when your eyes are watering in to a Kleenex. Oh, that would be terrible. Actually, it would. But I am just bitter that he is going to escape to exotic-land in health, while we stay back in sickville, without his help.

Did I say that I enjoy my life? I swear I do. I especially enjoy the two hours of homework that are awaiting me, and are the reason for my rambling blog post. Really..it is pretty great...my life. Boogers and all.