I had every intention of being all better by now, but instead I keep waking up with fresh symptoms… and friends who work in health care are nodding and saying helpful things like, “Has the vomiting started yet?” so I’d like to make one last plea to all parents: please keep your children home at all times, preferably in plastic bubbles, so that they don’t go around wiping their noses on the rest of the world. Until that day, I’ll just keep telling myself that whiskey fudge will totally work better than anything my stupid doctor gives me.
Side note; I think I’ve finally sorted my whiskey fudge recipe.
Also, is anyone else binging House of Cards right now? Of course you are, so let’s meet up next week to talk about it… nothing specific (we don’t punish the slow), just about how much we love all the things that are happening because holy crap, amirite?
Oh, shit. Wait. You’re here for a Conversation or something. Um… how ‘bout this one?
ME: (in the kitchen, getting ice cream)
HIM: (downstairs, to the brindle dog) You’re going to need to get off the couch before Mom comes back.*
ME: (shakes head; he is not using Authority)
HIM: One… Two… **
ME: (finishes scooping ice cream, listens)
HIM: (uncertain) Four… Five…
HIM: Six… Seven…
ME: (doubles over laughing)
ME: (finally coming downstairs) There’d better not be a dog on the couch when I get there.
BRINDLE: (suddenly alert, eyeballs me nervously)
ME: (calmly) Get off the couch.
BRINDLE: (leaps off couch)
HIM: Where were you???
* I don’t know why she does this, since it’s literally never worked, but every time one of us gets up off the couch, she moves over to take our spot. And if it’s not her, it’s the other one. They do it to each other on their own furniture, which is fine—I tell whomever comes whining, “move your feet, lose your seat.” But they’re not meant to use that same logic on me!
** Yes, they respond to Counting, and yes I trained my dogs the same way I trained my kid. Because I am lazy and this totally works.