***Disclaimer: This post may very well include my worst singing to date. I will refrain from quiting my day job.***
A little body snuggled next to mine at 6am this morning. I slept lightly enjoying the warmth of his breath. His tiny hand on my hip.
"I don't feel good, Mama," he croaked. "My throat is scratchy. And itchy. Feel."
I gently ran my groggy fingers across his small throat. Nothing was amiss.
I hatched a wicked idea. A very wicked idea indeed.
"Mmm hmmm. You are very ill, my Love," I said.
"I am?"
"Yes. I don't think you should go to school to today."
"I shouldn't?"
"No. You might infect the others."
"Who will take care of me? You have to go to work today."
"Well. I suppose I will have to call The Office and tell them my little boy is very very ill... Some things are simply more important than others.".
He smiled. I smiled.
His sisters protested.
I took them to school.
Back at home, my boy and I staged a war between plastic muscle men and rigid army dudes. We chewed pink bubble gum. Bubble contest. He won. Sang silly songs.
I thought of you. Decided to include you in our play. I risk grave humiliation. But when has that ever stopped me?
You're welcome!
The local toy store whispered in the wind. Desired our patronage. Today is payday, you know.
What better way to spend a hard-earned paycheck than on an assorted packet of Mustaches.
Mushatio-ed we roamed the city. Terrorized our neighborhood. The neighbors barred their doors. Insanity is catching.
"Stay in character, Mom," said my very very pretending-to-be-ill boy. "When you laugh your mustache comes off. Then you look ridiculous."
Heaven forbid I look ridiculous.
I did my best to stay in character.
If you watch my eldest daughter, you will find staying in character is much harder than it looks when wearing false hairs above the upper lip.
If you don't mind my saying, I can see you're out of aces. For a taste of your whiskey I'll give you some advice...
When was the last time you played hookey? Hmmmm?
