Paul went to Asia for work. He stayed in nice hotels, ate in nice restaurants and saw all the sights.
This was my week - breaking up fights between kids, feeding kids, cleaning kids, cleaning the house, doing laundry, doing dishes. I took the kids to the park, zoo and pool.
Twenty-four hours before Paul came home, I hosted a playdate. When will I learn that other small children should never enter our house, much less touch their toys?
Sara trusts other children to play with her toys. But heaven help her little brother if he dares glance at her precious loot. Christian played very well with his little buddies because they also like running around the house screaming for no reason.
Sara, with all her usual flair for the dramatic, was devastated because her BFF was unable to come so she decided the whole day was ruined. Got to admire her coping skills. Then she decided that she needed to pick a fight with her brother and cry. I'm not even sure why she was crying. She was the oldest kid by 4 years and the only one crying. A proud moment for me.
With kids on a sugar high from the cupcakes consumed at dinner time, parents fled the scene with impressive speed. I think I saw a parent actually leapfrog over her children to get to her car.
Full of remorse and hoping to earn back her lost privileges, Sara was very helpful cleaning up crumbs, napkins and toys. While we were busy, Christian decided to swallow a marble. Guess he really will eat anything. Suddenly overcome with love for her brother, she starts wailing that he is going to die and she needs to call 911. I snatch the phone from her and call the doctor.
The remedy? Feed the kid. Seriously, I was told to give him some bread and water to make sure his airways are clear. So, I have one kid told to drink milkshakes to gain weight and another kid told to put more things down his throat after swallowing a toy. I will never understand modern medicine. Or my kids.
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