Adelaide affirmed my belief that youngest siblings generally have it made, at least if your eldest sibling is an indulgent sister whose name rhymes with Shadelaide.
Then we all went home and did the only thing you can do after sledding, which is drink hot cocoa.
Yes, I'm still using my Christmas mug. I'm also still listening to Christmas music, although only in our vehicle. I took all those exhortations to "Never change!" inscribed in my yearbook seriously.
Last night I made banana ice cream for the kids after supper, which is always curious, as whipping frozen bananas in my food processor tap dances on just this side of triggering an allergic response in me, despite the fact that I'm not actually ingesting any of the allergen. I noted this with interest, then got to further my mental notes when cleaning regurgitated banana off nearly every surface of the bathroom later that night. Apparently seven years old is not the age when you're able to hit the toilet when sick- well, not the inside of it, anyway, or even within a few feet of its easily flushable inside. Seriously, it was like an episode of NCIS: Vomit in there. I'm sure if I had the training I'd be able to identify all kinds of things in the splatter patterns. Good news, though! Apparently stomach acid "cooks" the banana enough- thereby denaturing its proteins- that even skin contact doesn't elicit a response in this allergy sufferer. Motherhood is teaching me so much!
After a night like that, I kept Atticus home from school, and although we enjoyed a lethargic morning, he now seems to be back to normal.
|Please excuse the mess. We actually live here.|
Balloons have saved our bacon more than once during a long Iowa winter: They're cheap, after a couple days they do a Roberta Flack and kill themselves softly, and the children lose their minds over them. I don't know why tag/keep-away/ every single other game is so much more fun when played with balloons, but according to our progeny, this is a truth universally acknowledged.