I’m just writing to let you know that we are all healthy and lice free here! Hooray! The plagues have ended and Joy rules in the House of Mishegas.
OK, I’m totally kidding. Chaos rules in the House of Mishegas! (Also Baby. I wouldn’t want to leave him out.)
Chaos is getting over a cold (Let’s call it Sandor) and now she’s appears to be coming down with the a new cold that we’ll call Dulinetta. Now, read carefully because this is important and there will be a quiz when we are done. Sandor is the cold that the Bishop CLAIMS he caught from her but you and I both know that he has Dulcinetta and he caught it from BABY and now he’s given Dulcinetta to Chaos who wasn’t done getting over Sandor, and as a results, was too sleepy to get properly lice-combed and was rubbing her nose… Got that? Baby had Sandor and Dulcinetta. Baby gave Sandor to me and Chaos, but not the Bishop. Baby came down with Dulcinetta, and Bishop came down with Dulcinetta, which he claimed was Sandor, caught from Chaos, but was really Dulcinetta, and then he gave Dulcinetta to Chaos. Got it?
OK, quiz time!
I’m just kidding. I really don’t have the energy to write a quiz.
Colds turn the Bishop into Rip Van Winkle. You never saw anyone sleep so much. He sleeps and sleeps and then he wakes up so he can go back to sleep. It’s unreal.
Colds turn Baby into himself, only snottier. And maybe just the tiniest bit grumpy. But mostly he’s just a pleasant, funny little fellow with a runny nose. He asked for Tylenol the other day. I had the medicines in a baggie and he pointed at the Tylenol and said, “I want that!” I gave him some. I have no idea if he knows what it does or if he just thinks it tastes good, but I gave him some, since he asked for it. I give him everything he asks for. It’s a no-fail parenting strategy.
Colds turn Chaos into Maximillien Robespierre and she unleashes a reign of terror upon our household and makes us feel as though she has chopped off our heads with her mighty Guillotine of Sleeplessness. Plus howling. Lots and lots and lots of howling, and you know how I love me some howling.
I don’t know what colds turn me into. Back before children, I had something known as “sick time” (now a rare, precious and exotic commodity!) and when I had a cold, I would stay home and wallow in my own disgustingness, as you do. Now, I work through it, the long-suffering Martyra Martyrstein, and I spread displeasure and germs to all who come near. Because I don’t have a cold. YOU have a cold (Sandor and/or Dulcinea, natch.) *I* have allergies. Allergies! I don’t get sick. Who has time to get sick?
Who or what does a cold turn you into?