The joys of strep throat

I think I wouldn’t mind my children being sick if they weren’t such assholes when they were.  (That’s right.  I said it.  With love.)

It’s like, they’re feeling so shitty and so they won’t stop until everyone around them is feeling just as bad.  Especially their mother.  There’s hitting and kicking and yelling and hair pulling and very little napping from the worst culprit.

They fight with each other and anyone else within temper range.  The youngest will gleefully rip up a picture her brother was coloring, squealing with delight as he rages in fury.  The oldest rages in fury quite often.  Especially when Mama tells him he can’t do something he wants to do.

Why couldn’t they be the type of sick kids who just want to lie around and cuddle their mama?  Son, I would gladly let you watch TV all day when you’re sick if by bedtime you weren’t ready to throw all your toys onto the floor in anger because it was time for bed and your little mind was so glazed and baked that you just couldn’t handle the simple task of putting on your own pajamas.

Right about now my mom is telling me to stop being so honest.

But as I can’t throw them out of the house until they stop acting like street thugs, instead I’m telling you.

They are no longer contagious.  Let’s hope their moods will also improve.

Also – let’s hope someone shows up with a huge bottle of wine soon.  Or maybe a box.  I hear Franzia is pretty good.

(Tomorrow I will stop complaining and write something that isn’t so negative.  I hope.)