It’s a Chocolate Day

It’s a chocolate day.

Evan is in the why phase, which is another post.

It’s a chocolate day.

Sean threw five temper tantrums.

It’s a chocolate day.

It was a 5:30 am wake-up call.  AGAIN.

It’s a chocolate day.

It’s a no-breakfast day, but I’m soooooo HUNGRY at 9:00 am day.  Really?  Because I just threw out your pancakes.

It’s a chocolate day.

It’s a boycott of lunch as well.  Because who wants peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when they can whine for something else with the hope Mommy just might give in to the torture and pull out better food because it can happen one day.

I want chocolate.

It’s an early naptime because everyone is whiney, tantrumy, and sleepy, especially Mommy.  But no, the I’m-almost-four boy decided to boycott naps, even though he’s been up since 5:30.

It’s a chocolate caffeine day.

Although we have an arsenal that includes half a dozen swords and four light sabers, they must have the same damn sword.

It’s a chocolate day.

All the kid DVDs are strewn across the family room; all the pirate treasure is strewn across the family room.  All the cars are out, so is every toy from the random-too-big-to-be-in-the-bucket-shelves-and-can’t-fit-under-the-train-table box.  Now they want Legos.

I want some chocolate.

They want candy.  They want fruit snacks.  They want fruit roll ups.  They want candy.  They want cookies.  They want candy.  They want fruit snacks.  But the sandwiches are still on their plates.

I want chocolate.

It took almost forty-five minutes to clean the pirate treasure with the nag, “pick it up now!” over and over.

It’s a chocolate day.

I sounded like my mom as I demanded to know “how many times I had to say . . . .”

Oh, God, I need chocolate. 

Thank God that I don’t have a smart mouth teenager that answered fifty. 

I think my mom deserves chocolate too.

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Rings, Tuxes, and Weddings

I’ve might have mentioned my brother is getting married this summer in New Hampshire.  We’re all excited because we love his bride.  (Hi, K!)  Rumors were abound over a ring bearer as my soon-to-sister-in-law has a niece who was born in between my boys.  So a few months ago, my brother called me.

T: So, um, do you think Tornado E would want to be the ring bearer?

Me: How about this?  You tell me if you want him to be the ring bearer, and we’ll psych him up for the gig if you do.

T: Ok, we want Tornado E to be the ring bearer.

Me: You weren’t going to tie a pillow on Larkin’s head and have him come down the aisle.

T: No.

Me: Really?

T: No.

Me: Then why are you bringing the dog to the wedding?

T: It’s a long story.

Me: Boys, watch some cartoons.  I have time.

So Tornado E is supposed to be the ring bearer, but he would rather be Master Crane.  Whatever.  Now I could go into more gossipy information here, but K occasionally reads my blog, and I wouldn’t want her to think I’m always picking on T (no matter how much he deserves it).

A month or so ago, T showed up at my parents’ house to pick up the invites and discuss the ring pillow with my mom, who is making it.  My mom and I could not be bothered as we were in a death race for our lives called Mario Go-Kart.

T: Fae, I’ve been thinking.  We’ve been thinking.  Tornado E is at a very independent stage right now.  So we don’t know if he’ll be manageable.  So we were thinking maybe Tornado S would be better.

Me: Stupid Baby Mario!  What?  You don’t want that.  Tornado E can take direction.  He’ll be excited to do it.  With Tornado S, we would have to tie a cookie on a string and pull it down the aisle to get him to do it.

T: I don’t know-

Mom: Stupid Babies!

Me: I know.  They’re ruthless.

T: Are you sure?

Mom: Yes.  Don’t you remember when Fae was Tornado S’s age, she was the flower girl to your Aunt’s wedding?  The maid of honor wouldn’t let her go back to my seat for the ceremony, so half way though the wedding, all you could see was two little Mary Jane’s kicking in the air.

Me: It wasn’t my fault.  Another Blue Shell!!

Mom: So Tornado S is too young-

Me: Unless you want both boys.

T: No, Tornado E will be fine.

Me: And you’ll have to send Tornado E and K’s niece to sit during the wedding.

T: It’s only a half hour ceremony.

Me: Go!  Go!  Go!  Yes!  A half an hour is a long time for little ones to stand.

Mom: Trust me and send them to their moms for the ceremony.

T: Oh, all right.

Me: Dang. I spun out on that start.

Mom: I was wondering where you went.

Me: Ha.

T: Uh, Fae.  Um, you might want to have Mom make Tornado E’s tux.

Me: What?  Why?

T: Well, the tux I want him to wear is 149 dollars.

Me:  WHAT?

Mom: You fell into the drink.

Me: ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY NINE DOLLARS!  For a tux?  For a three-year-old!

Mom: He’ll be four.  Wait!  You and your groom’s men aren’t wearing tuxes.

T: No.  But we want Tornado E in one.  With tails.

Me: What?

T: Do you think he’ll wear a top hat?

Me: Are you?  Is M?

T: No.

Me: No.  Let’s get back to the 149 dollars.

T: Well, I looked around and that’s how much it costs to rent it.

Me: To RENT IT?!  Where the he-  Where did you go?

T: That’s why I think you should have Mom make it.

Me: On top of the ring pillow, the banner and her dress.

T: Mom, you’re making your dress!  What happen to the one you were going to buy?

Mom: It sold out.  I won!

Me: I stopped playing.

T: I think you should ask Mom.

Me: Mom, how hard would it be to make Tornado E’s tux.

Mom: Well, it’ll be a little hard with the cuffs and lining and everything.  I could do it.

T: See, Mom can do it.

Me: I don’t know.  You said a black tux with tails?

T: Yes.  With a cream vest and bow tie.

Me: (roll of eyes) Give me a minute.  Mom, may I please borrow your computer.

Few words typed into the search engine, a few clicks of the mouse, I returned to the room.

Me: 50 bucks.  You want to see if I found the right one.

T: 50 bucks?  Really?

Me: Yup.  To own.

T: That’s the one.

Me: I guess Tornado S is going to have a very formal fourth Christmas.

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Was that supposed to be a secret?

Ever have one of those moments when you know you just might have gone too far.  Or maybe it’s just me because I’m always chewing on my foot.  When I was young, I would cross that line and look back a mile later and say, “Crap, was there something I shouldn’t have said?”

There I was, standing in the middle of a ring of women, conducting a bridal shower game.  Now some of these women had known me since I was a baby; while, others were my soon-to-be sister-in-law’s friends, which I just met an hour or so before at the beginning of the party.  I was conducting the games because I could lead without stepping on any one’s toes.  We were playing a game in which everyone had to guess how many questions my sister-in-law would know about my brother, who had answered them the night before.  Questions included his favorite food, book, and such.  But we had a four-way tie, and I had to break it some how.  I had the winners guess if my sister-in-law would get the bonus question.

Me: What was my brother’s doll’s name?

A collective “WHAT?” settled over the room, except for those few women who knew my brother since he was a baby.

K: (didn’t blink) Buddy.

Me: (smiling) No.  Not his My Buddy.  His first doll.  The one he loved.

K: What?  He had another doll?

My mom: Actually, he had three.  The My Buddy.  A Wrestling Buddy.  And this one.

K: Then I don’t know.  I only knew of Buddy.

Me: You’re going with Buddy then?

K: Yes.

Me: It was Paula.

K: I’ve never heard that one.

Me: It was a boy doll, and T was only three or four.  But since I had dolls, he had to have one.  He begged and begged for one.  So that Christmas, one grandma got him a homemade boy doll, which he named Paula.  He loved that doll.

Then I remembered I was not alone with K, pouring over embarrassing baby pictures.  I was in the middle of ring of women.  Many of these women were friends of my soon-to-be-sister-in-law, my boyfriend’s girlfriend.  Now they knew he had a boy doll named Paula.  Good thing we don’t live in the same house any more.

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Reasons to stare at the wall than play Candy Land

My dad hated playing Candy Land.  I never understood why.  Until now.


1) Everyone wants the same color gingerbread man.  Every time.  It doesn’t matter if Sean’s favorite color is blue and Evan’s is read.  If the other had it first, then the second needs it NOW.

2) Sean must have more than one.  Evan finds this unfair.  I don’t care as long as it keeps the peace.

3) Evan must have every gingerbread man piece lined up just so, even if Sean is not going to play with the game.

4) Evan must make up an elaborate story before the first card is drawn.  Woe to those who try to play without listening to the long winded story.

5) Sean, who was once satisfied to just play with his pieces by himself and occasionally tornado through the game board, which gave me an opportunity to use my awesome visual memory, wants to pull cards too.

6) Sean: Blue!

Me: No, Sean.  Red.  That’s red.

Sean: Blue!

Me: No, Sean.  That’s orange.

Sean: Blue!

Me: Good job, Sean.  Blue.

Sean: Blue!

Me: No, Sean.  That’s green.  Grrrreeeeeennnnn.

7)Evan must make up a story about every move, every person, every color, every square, every picture, every move.

8)Evan: And this guy said hello.  He liked red, but he didn’t like blue.  Or green.  Just red.  And he said, “Look at those squares.  There is a red one and a blue one and a green one and a yellow one and an orange one.”  And he jumped to the red one because he liked red.  He said to the kids, “Come follow me.”  And they followed him.  There was a little girl, a little boy, another little girl, and another boy.  They sat at the- What’s this called again?  Oh, yeah.  The gingerbread tree, and they said, “Hello, gingerbread tree.” And he said . . .”

9) Evan has to ask the same questions over and over and over.

10) Evan: What’s that, Mommy?

Sean: Blue!

Me: That’s a peppermint beaver.  No, Sean.  That’s orange.

Evan: Oh, and what’s he doing?

Me: Cutting down-

Sean: Blue!

Me:- candy canes.  No, Sean.  That’s yellow.

Evan: And who’s that?

Sean: Blue!

Me: Mr. Mint.  No, that’s yellow again.  Same card I think.

Evan: What’s that?

Me: A peppermint beaver.

Sean: Blue!

11) Evan thinks that double squares actually mean three squares.  The first one doesn’t count.

12) Evan wants to go down the bridges, back and forth and without landing on them.

13) Sean is obsessed with ice cream.

Sean: Cream!  Cream!  (after he moved my head to look, pointing at the ice cream palace.)

14) Does any one remember when it was Princess Lolly, daughter of the King of Candy Land?

15) Evan: Mommy, what’s that?

Me: (How many times do I have to tell you it’s) The Chocolate Swamp.

16) Evan doesn’t want to keep drawing cards and is surprised he didn’t win as soon as he usually does; while, I kick myself for not stacking the cards And stacking the cards.

17) After finally making it to the chocolate monster, Evan wants to visit the peanut area.  And read the story.  And ask me more questions.  And tell me more stories.

18) Sean decides he wants to move the board.

19) Candy Land ends the way Monopoly used to end at my parents’ house when I was a kid.  Game pieces were thrown, cards scattered, and Mom yelling to quit it.

20) Evan wants to put away the board before Sean does.  Crying resumes.

21) Evan decides he wants a lollypop.  No, a candy cane.  No, chocolate.  How about some ice cream? 

Sure you do, kid.  That was the whole point of the game.  But I guarantee you, I need it more than you.

Sean: Blue!

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Brother, Where are you?

Returning from an errand with my mom, I tried to collect my boys from my parents’ house, but as the TV was blaring cartoons, neither boy was interested in moving, much less leaving to have a boring lunch and a boring nap.  I clicked off the TV.

Me: Time to go.  We need to eat lunch.

Evan: But I want to stay with Papi and Grandma.  Papi said I could.

I looked at my dad, who shrugged.

Me: We’ll be back for dinner.  Come on.  Let’s go.

Evan: I would rather stay here.

Would rather?  I better start dumbing down my language.  There I did with the word, dumbing.

Me: Aren’t you hungry?  We’re having hot dogs.

Sean: Hot?  Hot!  Hot!

Sean grabbed Papi’s hand and led him down the hallway to the foyer.  I looked over at my mom for help.

Grandma: It’s fine with me.  We don’t have any plans.

Evan: I’m fine.  You can go now.

Sean: (from the door) Hot!  Hot!  Hot!

Me: If it’s all right with you.  Seanny’s hungry.

Grandma: And wants hot dogs.

Me: Bye, Mom.

I ran to catch up with Sean and my dad.  Sean had banged on the door until Papi opened it, and then Sean pulled Papi to the car and then banged on it.  I clicked the doors unlocked.  My dad put Sean into his seat.

Sean: (pointing at the floor) Ra!  Ra!  Ra!

Papi: Roar!  Good job, Seanny.

Me: No, it’s ra, not roar, Dad.  Here Sean.  Here’s the rocket!

Sean: (reaching for the rocket) Ra!  RA!  RA!

My dad grabbed the rocket and started to play with it, causing Sean to whine and yell RA louder.  My dad whooshed it into Sean’s hands.

Sean: Ra!  Hot!

Me: Ok.  Ok.  Bye, Dad.  See you in a couple hours.

I jumped in the car.  I rolled down the back windows.

Sean: Bye!  Bye!  Byyyyyyeeeeee!

I drove off, trying to sing “Rocket Run.”  It was pretty awful if I do say so my self.  But Sean liked to try counting down with me, by repeating “two, eight.”

Sean: Two.  Eight.  Two.  Eight.  Two!  T-  Brathr? Brathr?  (looks over at the empty car seat) Brathr! 

Sean started to cry about half a mile away from my parents’ house.  The red lights took forever as I tried to reassure Sean that Evan was fine and at Grandma and Papi’s house.  AND WHY is that idiot not typing the damn code for the gate?!  And where is Tinker Bell when you need her? 

We pulled up the driveway with a crying Sean, desperate for his brother.  I plunked him down on the coach, turning on the cartoons as I was desperate for some sort of quiet.  Sean stopped crying to watch; while, I made his lunch of hot dogs, cheese, and raisins.  We ate on a towel, watching cartoons, pretending we were on a picnic.  Sean discovered the joys of raisins and marshmallows dipped in ketchup.  I was just glad he didn’t offer me any.

By naptime, Sean was too tired to care about Evan and fell fast asleep.

When Sean awoke, he was greeted by the usual cheerful excitement of his mom.  I cuddled him, played with him, got him juice and a snack.  For forty-five minutes, Sean was the only child, relishing the attention.  But then he remembered that Evan usually wakes from naptime before he does.

Sean: Brathr!  Brathr!

Sean looked around.  He toddled to the bedroom.  He looked up at the top bunk.

Sean: (pointing to the top bunk) Brathr!

Sean climbed the ladder and jumped into the bed to wrestle his sleeping brother awake.  But there was no brother.  Seeing that he was looking down on his mommy, Sean played and teased me with smiles.  Then he remembered again.  He lifted the pile of comforter to see if his brother was hiding.  But he was not.  So Sean got down.

Sean: Dada? Dada?

Sean toddled to the office, grabbing his daddy’s hand.  He pulled his Daddy out of the office and to the front door, where Sean tried to open the locked door.

Sean: Dada?  Mama?

The husband and I exchanged looks.

The husband: Let’s see where this goes.

I unlocked the door.  Sean opened it, dragging his daddy behind him.  Sean pulled his daddy to the car where he banged on the door.

Me: I guess he’s ready to go.

The husband: Ok, Sean.  Let Daddy put on a new shirt and shoes, and we’ll go.

The husband let go of Sean’s hand and ran inside. 

Me: Seanny, we have to get shoes on.  Shoes.  I need to get my purse and the diaper bag.  Come on.

Sean:  WAIT!  NO!

He grabbed my hand and walked me to the street.  He looked both ways and walked into the street.  Still holding my hand, Sean started walking down the street towards Grandma and Papi’s house, where Evan was, as though Sean was in a car.

Me: Come on, Sean.  Let’s get ready.  It’ll be faster if we take the car.

I scooped up Sean and got us ready, leaving five minutes later.  It turns out Evan didn’t miss us one bit.

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Brothers: Or Monkey see, Monkey do.

You jump.  I’ll jump.

You run.  I’ll run.

You laugh.  I’ll laugh.

You dance.  I’ll dance.

You clap.  I’ll clap.

You sing.  I’ll sing.

You cry.  I’ll cry.

You hide.  I’ll hide.


You play with cars.  I’ll play with cars.

You tackle her.  I’ll tackle her.

You play with trains.  I’ll play with trains.

You color.  I’ll color.

You do puzzles.  I’ll do puzzles.

You ride bikes.  I’ll ride bikes.

You wear blue.  I’ll wear blue.

You’re a pirate.  I’m a pirate.


I’m thirsty.  You should have juice.

I’m hungry.  You should have gold fish.

I’m playing.  You have this red car.

You’re crying.  Here’s your binkie.

You’re watching cartoons.  I’ll watch with you.

You’re painting your arm.  I’ll paint mine.


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Another Little Brother

My first clear memory was when I was three, just a handful of months before my fourth birthday.  I caught my parents looking at two plastic bat and ball sets.  I knew I shouldn’t have looked, shouldn’t have been there, but I saw them and ran back to where I was supposed to be.

The next memory was a few days later.  My little brother and I were playing with the bat sets in the backyard of my grandparent’s house.  I had received a red bat and yellow ball; while, my little brother had a yellow bat and a red ball.  We switched balls.  I was always given red things, and my brother always received blue.  I always got the hero action figure, and my little brother always got the side-kick.

I remember throwing the ball up and trying to hit it.  I was wearing a short set, probably pink, though I’m only guessing because of photographs.  I remember we didn’t have much success of hitting the ball. 

Then the memory flash forwards to dinner, just a few hours later.  My grandparents, brother, and I were sitting at the breakfast bar, eating chili, when my dad came into the kitchen door.  He looked tired.  He looked happy.  I remember being excited to see him, yelling daddy from my seat as I couldn’t jump up to hug him as I hadn’t finished my meal and been excused.  He kissed me.  He shot a look at my grandma that I couldn’t interpret at the age.

“You have a new baby brother,” he said.

I was crushed.

I wanted a baby sister, not another brother.  Not another brother.  Later I would learn that my dad had called my grandma earlier that day to give her the good news, which she refused to pass on to me because I was so very certain I would have a baby sister, not another brother.  That was twenty-five years ago today.

The next memory I had was sitting at the dinette table (the one I’m sitting at now), coloring with my little brother and my mom.  I was happily chatting away about something.  I stopped, thinking.  “What’s his name again?” I asked.  My mom sighed and told me.  It wasn’t the first time I had asked, nor was it the last.

But luckily for me, I learned to love the little guy, and after we grew up out of the sibling rivalry crap, we became friends.  I couldn’t ask for a nicer, sweeter baby brother.  Of course, he’s now my Big baby brother. 

As for my just deserts, our family dog has just turned sixteen, and for sixteen years, my brother has accidently called me Athena, instead of my name when he’s in hurry and not thinking.  Pay backs are a bear.

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We got a band here

Evan: Old McDonald had a farm.  Ei-eio-.  And on that farm he had a cow-

Sean: Cow.

Evan: Ei-ei-o.  With a moo-moo here.  And a moo-moo there.  Here a moo.  There a moo.  Every where a moo-moo.  Ei-ei-o.

Sean: Oh.

Evan: Old McDonald had a farm. Ei-ei-o.  And on that farm he had a dog-

Sean: Da

Evan: Ei-ei-o.  With a ruff-ruff here.  And a ruff-ruff there.  Here a ruff.  There a ruff.  Every where a ruff-ruff.  Ei-ei-o

Sean: Oh.

Evan: Old McDonald had a farm.  Ei-ei-o.  And on that farm he had a Missing Blink.  Ei-ei-o.

Sean: Oh.

Evan: Mommy!  What does a Missing Blink sound like?

Me: I think he roars.

Sean: Ra!

Evan: Which a roar-roar here.  And a roar-roar there.  Here a roar.  There a roar.  Every where a roar-roar.  Ei-ei-o.

Sean: Oh!

Evan: Old McDonald had a farm.  Ei-ei-o.  And on that farm there was a . . . robot! Ei-ei-o.

Sean: Oh!

Evan: With a-  And a-.  Old McDonald had a farm.  Ei-ei-o!  And on that farm he had a B.O.B.  Ei-ei-o.

Sean: Oh!

Evan: With a Suuuuusan here.  And a Suuuuuuson there.  Oh, I think I scared myself. 

Sean: Oh.

Evan: Old McDonald had a farm.  Ei-ei-o.  And on his farm he had a city. Ei-ei-o.

Sean: Oh!

Me: What?

Evan: Old McDonald had a farm.

Me: But what did he have on his farm?

Evan: I don’t know.  Something.  What did it say?

Me: What did what say?

Evan: What did it say?!

Me: What did what say?

Evan: What. Did. It. Say? Mommy!

Me: (sigh) Old McDonald had a farm.  Ei-ei-o.  And on his farm he had a- (I point to Evan).

Evan: A city!

Sean: Ity!

Me: Oh, a city!

Evan: What does a city say?

Me: Hmmm, how about roar, rumble, honk!

Evan: With a roar-rumble-honk here.  And a roar-rumble-honk there.  Here a rumble-roar-honk.  There a rumble-roar-honk. Everywhere a rumble-roar-honk.  Ei-ei-o.

Sean: Oh!

Evan: Old McDonald had a farm.  Ei-ei-o.  And on his farm he had a silversaurus!  Ei-ei-o!

Sean: Oh!

Evan: With a roar-roar here! 

Sean: Roar!

Evan: And a roar-roar there!

Sean: Roar!

Evan:  Here a roar!  There a roar!  Everywhere a roar-roar! Ei-ei-oooooooo!

Sean: Ooooooooooooooooooh!  Yeah!  (He claps)


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Five For Fighting

I know I should have seen it coming.  I knew it was coming.  I should be more prepared.  I should have read books about this.  I should have talked to my mom about it more.  Heck, I should have-


What’s going on now?  Be nice!


Talked to other moms about it more.  But I didn’t, and now I don’t feel-


Knock it off!


Prepared.  Because-


Be good!  Stop harassing your bother!  Both of you!


I am now The Referee. 


Like I said I knew it was going to happen.  I mean my brothers and I harassed each other so much that I’m amazed my mom didn’t go prematurely gray, and my dad does blame his hair loss on it.  I just was hoping


If Evan is playing with the car, you cannot have it, Sean!  You have to wait until he is done.  Here take this car.


That I had a few more years, a few more months, just a few more wee-


Sean!  We do not throw cars at our brothers.  Time out!  Evan!  We don’t hit back!  Time out!


I need a goddamn whistle.  Hell, I need a penalty box.  F-it I need a drink.


I remember how my mom would point out other families whose kids never fought.  We explained to her that it was hidden, unnatural, weird.  Now I realize my words are coming back to bite me in the ass.


Boys!  You can play a duet on the piano.  Share!


Lately I have been barking the orders to share and to be nice.  And for the love of God, be good.  How hard it is to share?  How hard is it to play with another-


We have two guitars.  You can each have one.  Take turns then!


So my job description sounds a little like this: maid, chef, dishwasher, laundress, chauffer, personal shopper, doctor, nurse, reader, filer, garbage collector, decorator, librarian, camp counselor, teacher, babysitter, and now Referee.


As The Referee, my job disc-


Evan, you stay on this side.  Sean, you stay on that side.  Now everyone has room to play.  Evan!  Don’t mess with Sean.


Description is to make sure that all injuries are due to accidents and not malice, to keep life as fair between siblings as humanly possible, and to make sure all rules with their penalties are enforced properly.


Now what?!


I need a time out.

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When you’re sick . . .

When you are sick, you may not disregard the rules.

        They are there to keep you from getting hurt, keep your mother’s sanity, which is basically the same thing.



When you are sick, you may not take the toy your brother is playing with.

        I know you think you get everything you want when your sick, like cartoons on all day and juice for meals, but you can’t take away toys.  You’re not a bully.



When you are sick and you’re playing with several cars or dragons or dinosaurs, you are still required to share.

        It goes back to you can’t have everything you want because you’re sick.  I’m not raising spoiled brats.



When you are sick, you are not allowed more tantrums.

        I understand you’re not feeling well, but you can cry it off in your room because you didn’t get your way again.



When you are sick, you do not have permission to drown your brother.

        You’re grumpy.  He’s grumpy.  I forced you into a bath to cool down the temperature.  I added bubbles.  Enough bubbles for everyone.  Stick on your side.



When you are sick, you are still not allowed to put soap in your brother’s eye.

        You know very well bubbles are soap.  Just don’t do it.



When you are sick, dessert is not a meal.

        Yes, I give you popsicles whenever you ask because you refused to eat anything, but cookies are not dinner.



When you are sick, it does not mean that you get a diaper whenever you feel like it.

        Guess what.  You’re potty trained (mostly).  You still have to use the potty when you need to pee.  Those are the rules; there is no going back.



Because you are regaining your strength, it does not mean you get to pick fights.

        I get it.  You’re bored.  You’re energetic.  Somewhat.  But we don’t fight.  We don’t hit.  We don’t push.  For the love of God, we don’t throw Spiderman toys.



Because you are regaining your strength, it does not allow for all out sword fights.

        Of any kind.  No plastic swords, no foam swords, no light sabers, and defiantly no wooden swords.  Watch the movie.  Don’t attack your brother.



Because you’re regaining your strength, it does not mean you can skip naptime.

        Even when you are extraordinarily healthy, I don’t let you skip naptime, so what makes you think today will be different?



Oh, right.  The eight fights.  The seven temper tantrums.  Before nap time.  After one of the brothers slept in.   I need some chocolate.

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