Vignettes * Sick Day

***Note: I wrote this up to post on Friday, but didn't get around to adding pictures (all three of them...) until today. If any comments seem odd for a Sunday post, that's why!***

One of the things preschool is absolutely great for is keeping your children at the forefront of all trending diseases. This week's illness was pink eye. Joy. We all got it, and we've all been miserable. Among other things, it means that the boys are on hiatus from preschool. Behold some random cute moments from one of our sick days.

.

Edward was the first to wake in the morning. According to custom, I encouraged him to use the bathroom while I made him breakfast. He quickly informed me that his cooperation was not to be so cheaply bought: "I need a kiss, first!" I found his proposal acceptable, and kissingly bribed him into completing his business.

.

In true Miller-boy form, Robert only grudgingly eats under the best of circumstances. Having been sick for some days, he hadn't eaten a single thing for nearly three days by the time this morning rolled around. My poor, already skinny floof had visibly lost weight as I changed him into his clothes this morning. Determined to do something about his more-than-usually-ribbed chest, I held him in my lap gently and spoon-fed him some stroganoff from the previous night's dinner. The poor guy was so weak (he was trembling with hunger and sickness in my lap!) that he didn't offer any objections. He quietly ate every bite. For once.

[Updated to add: After my mother's horrified reaction to this vignette, let me say that Robert was feeling much better within minutes of eating. He is also worlds better as of Sunday.]

.

Edward: "Mommy! I hear the garbage truck! I need to open the [patio] door!"
Me: "It's too cold outside, honey -- I don't want us to freeze. Can I open the window blinds instead?"
E, with some panic: "Yesyesyes!"
[Edward and Robert stand transfixed at the window while the garbage truck lingers then leaves.]
Robert: "That was an ohwange gahbage truck!"
M: "Was it orange? I thought it was blue."
E: "It was blue, Robert."
R: "That blue gahbage tyuck had a light on it!"
E: "It had a light behind it!"
R: "That means police ossissers can dyive it!"
E: [Pointing at his bottom] "It had a light in back, right here!"
R, confirming: "It had a light on its bottom!"

.

Once upon a time there lived a charming young man who really didn't think he had very unreasonable expectations regarding interior decorating. Then he married a fair but fickle maiden whose willingness to accommodate his hopes was shaky at best, for she often spoke of a home containing extravagant, unnecessary luxuries like couches and chairs and beds. Nevertheless, they spent many happy, peaceful years without such preposterous furnishings.

After some time, the charming man's career necessitated a move to a land far, far away, and his loving, semi-supportive wife moved on ahead to prepare their home for his arrival two weeks later. Unfortunately, his trust in his help-meet was sorely unfounded, for the scheming wench went behind his back and purchased a couch and a bed to greet him when he at long last made the long journey to reach her side.

This charming man was, apparently, far more supportive of his faithless wife than she was of her husband, and nary a complaint did he make. However, the domestic sprites heard the quiet breaking of his heart, and set a clever trap to make the wanton wife regret her deceptive ways.

Before many months had passed, the emboldened wife resolved to purchase even more unnecessary furnishings for their new abode, and so set forth on an hour-long journey to a land of quality but exceedingly affordable furnishings, and such was her blasphemous success that she returned home -- after another hour-long journey -- with two new chairs and a bookshelf, ready for assemblage.

Much to her dismay, her attempts to assemble the new items were for naught. For the domestic sprites had cunningly removed some of the fittings from one chair, and had sneakily sent her home with the wrong bookshelf. Not to be dissuaded from her thoughtless ways, the following morning the wife made yet another pilgrimage to the land of furnishings and returned with the needed chair-part and the correct bookshelf.

Much to her further dismay, the indomitable sprites successfully removed from the box a crucial piece, and the wife's further attempts at carpentry were in vain. So it was that, the next day, the wife took her two pink-eyed sons with her for yet another wearyingly long quest to the by-now tiresome land of furnishings in search of the rightful shelf pieces. And though she returned home at last sufficiently equipped to build her new furniture, the domestic sprites had finally taught her that her spouse's wisdom in matters of interior decorating was indeed surpassingly desirable, and she resolved never again to meddle with her charming husband's ideals of domestic bliss.

At least for now.

.

Edward, playing with his Robot Creation: "walking... pooping... spiking."

Huh?!

.

The boys' pestering pleas for a book were finally granted by Joseph when he took a break from work this afternoon, and he sat down to read one of Edward's recent library finds: a book about superheroes (specifically Tony Stark, aka Iron Man).

Note Edward's "cape": a must for reading superhero books, apparently.

Joseph: "This is..." [He points at the next word and prompts.] "What's this word?"
Edward: "Book!"
Joseph: "It's a 'T' word. What word starts with 'T?' "
Robert: "Toodleloo!"
Edward: "Tony!"
Joseph: "Right! 'This is Tony.'" [He continues reading. After a while, he gets to the following passage.] "Tony has a beach house."
Robert: "Why does he have a beats house?"
J: "Because he's rich."
R: "But why is he wits?" [Brief pause as he makes a crucial connection.] "He's not wits! He's a boy!"

.

"Mommy? This is a nice gun." Edward and I have had many, many discussions about guns (even pretend ones) not being safe or kind things to play with, so he made a real effort to convince me on this one. "This gun doesn't kill any people. It only helps them."

.

Robert snuggled up to me where I was stealing a moment to read on the couch. "Mommy?" His questioning voice had the weight of serious pondering in it. "Do we live in Ohio?"
Me: "Uh... No, Pickle Juice. [Editoress's comment: What?! There are worse nicknames for a toddler!] We live in Illinois."
R, unconvinced: "No, we live in Oh-hi-oh!"
M: "Sorry, Floops. We live in Chicago, Illinois."
R, giggling: "No we don't live in Oi-ni-noi!"
M: "Well, where do you think we live, then?"
R, with more giggling: "We live in Cookie-oh!"