Pity Party

I forgot to share this picture of my third little boy.


Happy New Year!



This past week, armed with decongestants and tissues, I waged the war against my children's snots and won. Halfway through the battle, my youngest was sweet enough to share his misery with me by sneezing in my face. Lovely. Traitor.

A few days later, both boys were the picture of health and vitality, while I sat like a lump of forgotten chewing gum on the couch, my only companions a box of tissues and the TV remote control. I couldn't find the latter half the time, and was forced to beg my children to change the channel for me.

Judging from their reactions--especially my oldest--you would have thought I proposed visiting the local 7-11, "Bonnie and Clyde" style. "There," Seth announced firmly, switching the channel to an exercise channel. "You can watch this for a while."

Gee thanks, I thought sourly as I blew my nose for what seemed to be the thousandth time in an hour. I really want to watch people firm their butts while mine is getting mushier by the minute.

I felt like something the dog threw up, my body ached, and both my nostrils were congested. I could only breathe through my mouth, so I wasn't planning on making any phone calls; because of my breathing, I was sure to be mistaken for pervert.

I was a victim of the "poor me syndrome," but I really didn't give a rat's behind. I wanted to be babied, wanted to get back some of the 'TLC" I had given my family in the past. "Baby," I called to Seth, looking as pathetic as I could. "Would you please bring me some hot chocolate?"

"Nope," he replied coolly, glancing at grandfather clock, "I have things to do." With that, both he and Robert disappeared outside, leaving me to brood like a wet hen.

At this stage in his life, I was no longer "cool," not his hero. I felt ancient, my baby was growing up, and the younger one would soon follow. It was a bitter pill swallow, but life must progress. But what the heck is so important he couldn't bring me a cup of hot chocolate? I fumed. Walking to the window. I peeked through the blinds and got my answer. There in the drive, astride a purple mountain bike, was a young girl around Seth's age, her red hair gleaming like a copper penny in the morning sun.

A couple of minutes later, Seth appeared from the garage pushing his bike, Robert behind, as always, pushing his own bike. The girl's face lit up as the boys approached, a dimples appearing as she smiled. I watched as she flipped her hair, her laugh high and musical as she tittered over something Seth apparently said; he, in return, looking like he just won the lottery.

I turned from the window, feeling worse now since I saw that girl, that vixen, working her charms on my little boy. Didn't she realize he had only been out of diapers for twelve years? He was still a baby, my baby. Oh well, it wasn't anything I could stop.

I shuffled off the kitchen, in quest of that cup of cocoa. There, on the top pantry shelf, sat the box; at the moment looking like Incan treasure to my tired, bloodshot eyes. Reaching up I grabbed it and found--nothing. Every envelope was gone. Oh well, I'd have to use the chocolate syrup in the fridge; again nothing.

My remote was lost, there was no chocolate in the whole house, and a girl was flirting with my boy.

Ah well, as Scarlett O'Hara says ". . .tomorrow will be a better day," and it was.

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Seth is so unintentionally funny. Here's a few things I found out about this holiday season.

1. He puts his hair in storage until Fall and doesn't eat until there's a holiday--We were playing the PC version of FAMILY FEUD. The question was, "What do you get out of storage in the Fall?"

"My hair!" he yelled out, eager to beat me to the "buzzer."

"And what do you do the rest of the year, go bald?" I giggled, wiping the tears from my eyes.

A few minutes later, the question was "What do you do on the holidays you don't do year around?"

"EAT!" Seth blared.

"So that's not you at the table?" I asked, laughing.

"Guess not," he replied, grinning sheepishly.

My sides were hurting me from laughing by the end of that game.

2. I have a hot dog for a nose.--A few days later, Seth was half asleep, and I was walking by his room, scratching my nose, he asked, "Why are you scratching your hot dog?"

My nose is long, but hot dog length?

3. He wants to know when I'm going to die and who will be on the guest list--He overheard John and I talking about renewing our vows. "What year will you die?" he asked.

"Let me check my calender. Maybe I can pencil in a date." I retorted.

Then he asked who I wanted on the guest list. "For a funeral?" I asked dumbfounded. Then it hit me. He was talking about the renewing of the vows.

Guess my "dingyness" is wearing off on him.