Tribble Party In My Face

I'm on day two of an awful sinus infection. Every time I blow my nose, giant brownish-green Tribbles come out of my nasal cavities.

(Cari, played here by James T. Kirk, examines her Kleenex and discovers another Tribble has escaped.)

Except my Tribbles are made of mucus, not fur, but you get the point.

And when the Tribbles are NOT exiting my nose, they appear to be, judging by the pain I'm experiencing, lighting bonfires in my sinuses and rolling around in the flames. It's a Tribble party in my face.

Add that to the all-over achy feeling and lethargy, and you've got one miserable mama.

So I'm slumped on the couch this morning, drearily watching Ken get ready for work. He keeps getting ready for work, despite my baleful glances and suggestions that he take pity on me and call in sick, so I can go back to bed. He assures me that he would LOVE to do just that very thing, but unfortunately, his hands are tied. I suspect he's lying

The children, sensing that I am vulnerable, weakened, and unlikely to fend off their attacks, all descend upon me. Lotus curls up at my left, and uses my belly for a pillow. Then, liking the bounciness of her pillow, begins to bang her head against my stomach, using it as a trampoline for her giant, bony cranium. I resist the urge to beat her, but only because I don't have the strength to.

Gabriel, who has found one of Ken's wood clamps and is wandering around the house without a diaper on, comes up to me and requests help.

"Put penis in clamp?" he says, lifting up his shirt and trying to figure out how to...well, clamp his penis. And yes, the boy has mastered the word "penis". It's one of the clearer things he says.

"No, Gabriel. The clamp isn't for your penis. Get it away." Ken, whose back is turned to me during this, starts shaking with what I recognize as silent laughter. Lotus' laughter is not silent. She turns her head and buries her face in my stomach, laughing hysterically. It feels weird.

Gabriel looks at the clamp, then at my crotch. "Clamp mommy?"

I kick his hand and the clamp away. "No, we're not going to clamp mommy's vagina, either."

The word "vagina" sends Ken and Lotus into harder fits of giggles. Joaquin, who has been crouching, cat-like, at my right, bends near my ear. And begins to speak. Loudly.

"Maaaaammmaaaaaa?" I close my eyes and beg God for a clone. Just for today. "If you pay me a dollar, I will sing you a song." Joaquin holds his hand out. I oblige, and hand him an invisible dollar. He begins to sing:

"A, E, I, O, U are the vowels

Jesus loves the vowels.

Jesus likes you

He created you.

You create cars and houses and roads."

While I'm pondering whether I should be happy that my son has learned his vowels, or disgruntled that God loves the vowels, but He only likes me, Ken slips out the door.

Bastard.

At 10:30, Gabriel begins to insist that he's hungry and wants lunch. This actually can work to my benefit, for if I give the kids an early lunch, I can put them all down for naps at the same time! I can nap too!

I am so excited by this prospect that I have enough energy to make homemade pizza rolls. All the flavor, none of the creepy chemicals. My children eye the pizza rolls suspiciously, and refuse to eat them. They like their junk food with extra chemicals, thank you very much.

I shoo them all off to bed by quarter to noon. I am going to get to nap! I settle down beside Joaquin, who takes his naps in our bed as an incentive to still take them. My eyes close, my mind slows, and then Johnny Cash begins to lament about his hangover as my phone ringer, "Sunday Morning Coming Down" goes off. While I feel Johnny's pain, I still try to ignore the phone. I sense something hovering above me, and I crack an eye open. It is Joaquin, informing me that my phone is ringing and that I need to answer it.

"I don't want to. It's nap time." I mumble, and he lays back down. Silence.

Then the phone rings again. I sigh, get up, and go check it. It's Ken. Calling from the safety of work. I talk to him, hang up, and settle back down. Again.

By this time, the Tribbles in my head have been all stirred up, and they begin their stomping and fire building and whatnot, and I am driven from bed, so as to not wake the boy with my nose-blowing.

So here I am. Miserably posting this account of my day, hoping that you will get a chuckle or two out of my pain. Bastards.