It’s true. I live in a zoo. I really do. And now I’m done rhyming for you.
You see, having kids is wonderful, but every now and again I wonder, “How did I get to this point in my life?” My days are filled with non-stop cleaning of the messes Dawson makes. From picking up toys (4.6 million times a day) to making sure he hasn’t accidently peed on the floor in the bathroom (who said raising boys was easy, right?) I honestly believe I live with a little monkey. It’s no wonder he likes bananas so much.
The other day I woke up to find my son climbing the drawers in the kitchen to get on the counter top and scavenge the cupboards for the treats I’ve hidden on the top shelves. I shreiked when I saw him and he didn’t even flinch. He just laughed and I swear he made a monkey sound, too.
Now don’t get me wrong, my little Dawson is amazing and I wouldn’t trade him in for anything else in this world, but sometimes I want to hide under the covers and let his father handle all the chaos. But, at the end of the day when I see him crash (literally) for the night, I think to myself, “Zoo life really isn’t so bad.” It could be worse, right? At least this little monkey is potty-trained.
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Okay, I’m biased. I know that. But this video cracks me up.
Dawson and I were watching Spongebob this morning, and then Nickelodeon went off the air for three hours as part of their Worldwide Day of Play event. I told Dawson to help me find Murphy’s leash so we could take him for a walk to the park.
I stayed home from work today because this cold is kicking my butt. I awoke with a massive headache, barking like a seal, and began to cry. I hate being sick. Obviously, no one enjoys being sick, but when I’m ill I just want someone to take care of me.
I just want my husband to drop everything he’s doing and nurse me back to health. Instead he tells me that my illness is 10% virus and 90% “in my head”, and if I tell myself I’m going to feel better today, than of course I will feel better. Right. I’ll make sure to repeat his words verbatim when he gets this Cold of Death.
Earlier today, Doug dropped Dawson off at my mother’s work (she’s a school bus driver) so that he could “ride Nonna’s school bus like the big kids.”
Dawson loves that his grandma drives a school bus. He tells me every day, “Nonna is a great bus driver, Mumma!” and never fails to ask me when he’ll get to ride one of those big yellow things. (Speaking of the bus ride, my mother called to tell me how it went. When they got to one of the elementary schools, a teacher came out to greet the bus and asked Dawson, “Now, where did you come from? Washington School?” To which my brilliant son replied, “No, I came from my home!” I can’t stop giggling about that one.)
Doug had to work the second shift tonight, which means I had several hours of peace and quiet, with only my little dog to keep me company and he slept most of the day anyway. I spent my day blowing my nose, watching soap operas (The Young & The Restless and Days of Our Lives) and 90210 reruns while laying on the couch, praying for God to make this cold go away.
My mom was going to drop Dawson off after work, but my boy decided he wanted to spend the night at Grandma and Grandpa’s house and I couldn’t say no. So, I tried to clean the living room, or at least pick up the 500 used tissues off the floor. It took every once of energy I had just to do that. Sad but true.
This freakin’ cold suuuucks. And Vick’sVapoRub doesn’t help (no it doesn’t, Mom, I’ve been putting it on my chest all day and I still can’t breathe out of my nose — my mouth is dry and my lips are chapped and I hate that).
At about 6 p.m. I turned on the Brewer game and watched them get their butts kicked by the Cincinnati Reds. It was brutal. I can’t stand to watch them piss away their wild card slot. This sucks royally.
At about 8:30 my parents called because Dawson was crying. It seems my little boy missed his mommy and his Murphy so they were bringing him home. When they arrived twenty minutes later, Dawson ran into the house and asked, “Mumma, I’m home! Are you still sick?”
Melt my heart! My child was worried about me. Isn’t he sweet?
“Yes, buddy, I’m still sick.” I said.
“I’m sorry I got you germy, Mumma.” Dawson said. He hugged my legs and I felt my heart swell.
“It’s okay, sweetie. I’ll be okay.”
“You want me to give you med-cin?” he ran to the kitchen and pulled the bottle of grape Robitussin from the refrigerator door. “I’ll take care of you, Mumma!”
I see medical school in his future. He already has great bedside manner. Dr. Dawson Tuszke. I like the sound of that!
Dana Tuszke began her Mom career in 2004 after the birth of her son, Dawson the Demanding. She spends her days catering to the endless needs of a 3-year-old, vacuuming the never-ending trail of cookie crumbs in her living room, and suffering through too many episodes of SpongeBob SquarePants; all while working from home. More About Dana.
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