Puny Monday

Danny and I can't remember the last time we slept a full, uninterrupted eight hours at night. With a two year old and an almost nine month old, we ought to be sleeping like champs. Nope. Every night, one or both of them has an issue well before we are ready to begin our day.

Last night, it was both of them.

At 5:56 a.m., Lydie was up crying because she never ate all she should have eaten yesterday. Her second bottom tooth had broken the surface yesterday morning, so she must not have been feeling too keen on eating as much as usual (which isn't much anyway). So, Danny took the honors of dealing with her. He fed her and got her back to sleep and was just getting comfortable at about 6:56 a.m. when we heard Tyler screaming.

I mean, the kid was screaming.

I couldn't run up the stairs fast enough. When I got to his bedside, he was yelling, "Whassis? Whassis?" Interpreted, that means, "What's this?"

I knew exactly what that was.

That was vomit.

All over the bed. All over him. All over his stuffed animals.

The next hour or so is a blur. I know I bathed him while Danny got the bed stripped, but, other than that, I am not entirely sure what went on.

Ty and I spent the morning curled up on the sofa watching Fireman Sam and Handy Manny on repeat and reading every book in the house. He's never, ever been that still and cuddly in his life. I knew he felt yucky.

And, when a 100.8 degree temperature registered on the thermometer, I knew we really did have a sick little guy on our hands.

After a good, long nap, however, Ty woke up asking for snacks and milk, and he was laughing and being silly. Those were all good signs.

By bath time, he had played dress up in his fireman boots and hat, pushed Lydie around the house on the car, and helped me with some laundry. Things are looking up.

Let's just hope everyone rests well tonight. Fat chance, but we can still hope, right?