Yes, my friends.  TGIM.  Thank goodness it’s Monday!  Because, y’all, it was a rough weekend.  My previously healthy self fell sick again (remember my freak pneumonia in July?)… this time it was bronchitis, and I was a piece of work this weekend.  Miserable work.  My husband is a champ for dealing with my whining, and my kids are superstars for inventing new ways to play by themselves without killing each other!  Guys, they sat in a bathtub filled with blankets and dolls and books for over an hour. Quietly!  It was Mary Grace’s doing; she called it “party in the bathtub”.  Awesome…  Regardless, it allowed me another hour in bed, and all were happy.  The weekend kind of progressed like that.  Matt had to be at church extra, so we winged it.  And we all stayed alive.

And then comes the part for which a few people will surely chastise me (heeey mom and dad!  what’s up, Grandma and Pawpaw!).  Sooo… the rinky dink (but in a kid’s eyes, grandiose and magical) Clayton fair was this weekend.  Oh, the kids have been excited about it.  I had driven them past the rides earlier in the week for a sneak peak, and they were pumped.  I never factored into the equation that I might, ya know, catch The Plague… but too bad.  The show must go on.  So, Friday night, Matt and my 101 degree self took our kids to enjoy the wonders of small town fairs.

Because the rides cost, like, a million dollars each, we allowed each kid to choose one ride.  Mary Grace chose the train and grinned like this the entire time.  I was allowed to ride with her and so, naturally, I tried to sit with her.  But no.  “No mommy!  You not sit with me!  You sit back there!”  Premature teenagedom, I suppose.

Carson chose to ride the ferris wheel with Matt.  Now, portable ferris wheels at rinky dink fairs are typically off-limits in my normal existence.  However, Matt took advantage of my weakened immunity and vulnerable state and knew I wouldn’t fight back this time.

Mary Grace seemed to enjoy their experience more than the boys did.  She was giggling and shouting at them the. entire. time.

The ferris wheel operator let Carson and Matt keeping going and going and going simply out of amusement of Mary Grace’s reaction.  Or because he wanted them to die.


The good news is I woke up feeling better this morning.  The bad news is that I have self-diagnosed myself with an immunodeficiency disorder.  Or the adoption-stress-is-killing-my-immune-system disorder.  Either way, I have already proclaimed to Matt that I am hereby on a new mission to take better care of myself.  At this time, this means three things:

1. Take two of the kids’ vitamins daily. (My vitamin tablets make me nauseous.  Plus, let’s be real… Flintstones are more fun anyway.)

2. Fall asleep *in bed* each night at a decent hour. (As in not on the couch.  This happens all too often… as in nearly every night.)

3. Eat normally.  Like… take the time and effort to fix myself my own lunch instead of eating off of the kids’ leftover crusts and crumbs.  What a novel idea!

So, I’ll let you know how Mission: Keep Catherine Healthy progresses.  I have high hopes.
Happy Monday, guys!

4 Comments on TGIM

  1. I must join the ranks in chastising you for going anywhere with a fever like that. However, I know what it is like when the kids are already pumped up. Remind me sometime to tell you about my adventure as a kid on the roller coaster at the Va State Fair. I doubt you will ever let them go on one again.

    • Ugh, Beth… The Zipper…don’t remind me. I think Libby and I will hold that against our dad for the rest of our lives!

      • Not sure about The Zipper–I may not have heard that story yet unbelievably. I was referring to my awful experience riding the roller coaster and it came half off the track leading to a fire truck coming to get us off. I think I am scarred for life even though it was the kiddy coaster.

  2. OH! about YOUR adventure?! are you kidding? sounds very appropriate (and traumatizing) though. our zipper experience was nowhere near as exciting… it just involved lots of post-ride nausea due to my dad’s insistence that libby and i rode it. blech.

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