Anthony has been a Pint obsessed as of late. With the advent of warmer weather, he has rediscovered his tricycle and spends a good portion of his day riding around and around (and around) the pool deck on it. At first, it was cute but now it’s gotten rather creepy in its driven repetition. Next thing you know he’s going to use his best kid-in-a-horror-movie voice to chant “redrum, redrum” whilst bending his puppet index finger to the words. This will scare me; but maybe that’s what my body needs. If something can scare the s**t out of you, why can’t it scare the flu out of you? Just a thought, I’m grasping at cures here. I have plans tomorrow that I don’t want to abandon.
After reading yesterday’s post, HH went to Walgreen’s and got some much-needed Nyquil for me and, in doing so, earned another star in his crown. He’s good that way. The bloom fell off the rose a bit this morning though when he told me I looked like the Little Match Girl. Unfortunately, when I looked in the mirror, my reflection confirmed his analysis (except for the little part). It was like finding some previously unknown-to-me poor sickly relation with sallow pallor and mussed hair. A Beth shawl thankfully covered her back and shoulders but did not quiet the wracking cough that visibly wounded her chest with each spell. She looks downright pitiful. Oh, yeah, that’s me. I guess I better find some sulphur on sticks in case I need some pocket change. You never know.
Ewe-wise, I got a better look at both Cookie and Charlotte, both definitely pregnant with swollen udders and filling milk sacs. Carmela, confound her, is still a mystery. Even standing on my head, I can’t see her udders or milk sac and, if I go by girth alone, even Leroy would be pregnant as his full-fleece adds major perceived-poundage. Patience is not one of my virtues but it seems as if I have no choice.
So here I am, doing my flu-ridden best to care for a tricycle-possessed toddler, keep a watch over my flock by day, and sell a few matches on the side. Wish me luck.
Come oooon, Cookie! You have about 26 hours to push those lambies out; mama needs more yarn. Hee!
Posted by: Michelle | March 09, 2008 at 09:54 PM