Apparently, it's easier to be miserable at work. At the very least, it's probably quieter. But he gave it up about 1 to come on home and curl up in bed.
In the mean time, I managed to get out of bed and ready for the day. I found that as long as I didn't eat or drink anything, I was fine. Energetic, even.
We managed breakfast by 9, which I thought was an accomplishment given the night. It was beautiful and glorious outside, so I set a tub of water outside with several bowls and spoons and brightly colored cups. My children played merrily for what seemed like hours. It was really only about 45 minutes.
I folded laundry and kept my eye on the happenings just outside the back door. Giggles, squeals, birds chirping. It was great!
As all things in teensy-attenion-span-land do, it ended and people came straggling in. Thomas was assigned baby watch for a few more minutes while I found towels and dry clothing for said baby.
When I came downstairs, Thomas was curled up on the couch gazing despondently at a book and Daniel was no where in site.
"Dude, where's your brother?"
"I don't know."
|On a wholly unrelated note, Daniel got a big boy buzz-cut today!|
I glared at him incredulously as long as I dared and ran out the back door. We tore our dying fence down after the car ran through it a couple Christmases ago, so it's a straight shot to the road. Sure enough, there was Daniel halfway between our deck and the road (breath, Mamas, there was still a good 60 feet between the baby and the asphalt.)
I called to Daniel to come to me as I made my way down the steps and across the yard. He, thankfully, obeyed and ran to me jabbering about whatever expedition he was on. We wandered about the yard for a minute or two more, basically so I could compose myself before questioning my older son about his lack of responsibility.
When I came in the house, Thomas was on the floor in the fetal position, clutching his belly and moaning. (That one has a flare for the dramatic, oh yes he does) He was also flushed and warm to the touch.
I'd left a sick kid in charge of the baby. It was a real parenting coup, I tell you.
Moral of the story: There isn't one. The baby is fine, the big boy is still under the weather. I've been smearing peppermint oil on his feet and keeping him hydrated. We'll live to have stories another day.
How's your April starting off?