Carter had Hand-Foot-and-Mouth Disease this week. That thing is a bitch. He had to stay home from daycare for 4 days, the timing of which couldn’t have been worse. I had volunteered to host my mom’s 60th birthday party at our house on Saturday so I had a lot that still needed to be done, and little time to do it. By mid-week we had run out of babysitting options so I took the rest of the week off from work in hopes that I could maybe kill two birds with one stone. It seemed rationale at the time, but the poor thing was so miserable he just wanted to be held, which meant I didn’t get much done around the house and in turn was scrambling up until the last minute – per usual. He would wrap his arms tight around your neck like Deklan’s monkey Bobo with the long arms and velcro hands. Too bad he wasn’t about 15 pounds lighter so I could just let him hang there while I picked up. I remember when Deklan was about a year old I would strap Bobo to his back and say, “where’s Bobo?” and he’d crawl around the house looking for him. Now there’s a game I could play over and over again! I don’t care who you are, that’s funny.

Even though Carter wasn’t interested in eating anything for a couple days, he insisted upon carrying food around at all times. One morning he passed out on the couch with chocolate chip banana bread in his hand.

I tried to take it away from him while he was asleep, but the moment he woke up and realized it wasn’t there he went into his typical overly-dramatic toddler meltdown mode, so I gave it back to him and spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning smashed chocolate out of my couch. I think he did it on purpose just to make me feel his pain.

Then there was the Pedialyte Freezer Pop his pediatrician recommended I give him. He took one look at it and said, “this’ll do” and then proceeded to parade it around the house leaving a trail of red juice behind him everywhere he went, because heaven forbid he actually take a lick before it melted.

And just for shits and giggles he decided to briefly set it down on the light grey ottoman, of all places. I quickly ran to the kitchen to get a rag and in the 20 seconds I was gone he took the pen I was using to create my to-do list for the party that was now less than 48 hours away, and signed his name next to the red stain along with a barely legible message. I’m not a handwriting expert by any means, but I’m pretty sure it says, “I own you.”

Before I could even Google how to get pen out of fabric, Chris yells down from the balcony, “honey, I think you need to come see this.” He was supposed to be giving Deklan a bath so I could tell by his tone I wasn’t coming up to see something cute or amusing he was doing in the tub. I scooped up Carter, popsicle in hand, and trudged upstairs to see what else could go wrong today. As soon as I get to the top of the landing I’m greeted by Deklan butt naked pointing to the wall as he casually exclaims, “I colored on it.”

This was clearly a well-orchestrated attack by the two terrorists we have welcomed into our home. I didn’t even have a chance to respond before Deklan takes notice of the popsicle in Carter’s hand and yells out, “I want a popsicle, too!” HA. He can’t be serious. “Deklan, are you serious right now, child?” I say in complete disbelief that he thought he was in any position to be asking for a special treat. “Give me a POPSICLE! I  said I was SORRY now GIVE ME A POPSICLE!” he continued to scream.

Umm. No. Pretty sure you didn’t apologize, just like I’m pretty sure you are not getting a popsicle even after you do. Like who do you think you are? And why do I always have to answer the question about how many drinks I have per week when I go to the Dr? The real answer is not enough. There. I said it.

Kids have some nerve, I tell ya…