All my dreams have come true!
My son and I are watching Go, Diego, Go! Because it's just too much work to thrust this fireplace poker deep into my ear canal. My arms aren't long enough, damn it.
We saved the baby jaguar! Say it louder! Excellente!
Yesterday my boy had his five-year checkup, at the sinkhole of bacteria-coated furnishings and toys that some call "the doctor's office." Henry made sure to handle each and every board book, some of them downright soggy with god knows what, as I followed him around squirting him with Purell. Then the doctor was ready to manhandle him with his germy paws. And poke him with his virus-laden instruments.
Before we left, Henry crawled across the floor, licking it. I thought that was a bit much.
We call this foreshadowing!
So hi, today we're home with a lovely ailment. By "we" I mean "he" because I'm always here. By "lovely" I mean the hacking-cough, high-fever, aches-throughout-body kind of malaise. Henry is limping and sighing and clutching his stomach ominously. I'm calmly pushing a bucket in his direction, in case things take a turn for the volcanic. Fun times!
Luckily, as I have learned from Hasbro's newest toy for girls, it's everything I could have dreamed. See what I mean in today's Wonderland. We call this advertising!










October 19, 2007
Reader Comments (31)
Hope the boy feels better soon...
It's like you can actually, tangibly, smell the sickness.
I kind of miss Mr. Rogers and his slightly creepy sweater.
That "dream house" is everything I'm trying to keep my daughter away from. Thank goodness she doesn't watch commercials yet!
1. Diego makes me want to die. Quickly.
2. Taking either of my children to the doctor. I try to go and sit outside while we wait, which doesn't help much, but hey, I feel like it should, and I suppose that's what matters.
I hate taking my kid to the doctor, sure fire way to end up with strep. Or cooties.
Of course this means Six is a homicidal sociopath. But at least we don't watch Dora or Diego anymore in this house.