Things are not going well. My husband refused to believe me when I tried to convince him I was actually ill. He walked around muttering "self-induced" and "alcohol-related" as the likely causes. Being a paramedic, he felt confident in his medical assessments. Being a wife, I went to Prompt Care.
Fairly certain I was on my ninth case of strep(t) for the year, I opened wide and waited for the big giant gag-inciting Q-Tip to find its way into my mouth. For once, it came back negative. I was still given a prescription for a sinus infection and upper respiratory something or another.
I spent much of the day yelling at the children to be quiet. Jack actually got reprimanded for sighing too loudly. Danny got a time-out for throwing himself down after 3 hours of swimming and playing at camp to announce that his parents never let him have any fun. Joey whined and whined and whined until I tossed him down for a nap with the ominous threat of, "take one step out of that bed, and I will give all your toys to poor kids."
Joey, being Joey, appeared to have fallen asleep thumbing his nose at his mother with two steps on the ground and his beloved army of vintage Little People at his side. Only children are capable of sleeping like this:
So I had a good laugh and spent the rest of the day resisting the urge to abandon the children at a Chicago Safe Harbour location...namely their father's fire station.