The Sick Season

It's a Saturday. W is sick *again* and it's gloomy and rainy, which means we're stuck inside with the task of keeping him occupied. Plus, he seems to be on a nap strike today. Lovely. I'm finding you can only color, lego, farm, and hide and seek so many times. An hour ago he was playing with his truck and I somehow nodded off while playing with him. (No, I have not been drinking... Yet. (Seriously, I'm bored)).

We were going to see his buddy Ralph play an acoustic set at our local book store, but I decided that if some other mom brought her kid out and that kid was coughing, snotting, and drooling all over the place, I would be super annoyed. So, I decided to do the "responsible thing" and we missed the chance to rock out to some Ralph. Hey, the more people keep their sick kids quarantined at home, the less my son will continue to catch their illnesses. I'm trying to be a team player.

As a consolation prize, I made what I used to think were W's favorite pumpkin chocolate chip cookies (this should for sure solidify my title for Mother of the Year), but he hardly cared and instead asked for apple sauce. (Note: I used a quarter cup less sugar and half the amount of chocolate chips, so maybe that's why he wasn't interested. Matt tells me to stop messing with recipes, but a little less sugar never killed anyone. And, W doesn't get the chocolate chips anyway.)

Right now I'm listening to him in his crib "reading" a book to himself and greeting all of the clothes in his closet. "Hello, sweater.... Hello, pants." I'm just praying he'll take a nap, so I can take a shower. I'm afraid to move or do anything to let him know that I'm still in the house, which would then remind him that he's been on a sleep strike.

Please hurry, warm weather. I don't know how much more of this we can take.