So the Grammy's are tonight. Lady Gaga, Ke$ha, Taylor Swift the Girl Giraffe… I could probably pre-liveblog it and make all the same jokes I'll make tonight.
Except I may not get a chance to make any tonight because Ike-a-saurus is sick. Alas. He was doing so well with the gaining weight and the eating and the walking, and now he's back on o2 day and night, coughing his wee brains out, and generally feeling icky. We're trying SO HARD to stay out of the big H this time around.
Also fun, the wee-er one is on abx for a double ear infection (one of those that made the doctor jump back and flinch after he looked in her right ear). She's much better now, but still super grouchy. We're getting some wonderful gems like:
Wee-er one: [spontaneous crying] "I want my mommy!"
Me: "I'm right here, baby."
Wee-er one: "No! I want my OTHER mommy!"
Can I blame the Omnicef? I blame the Omnicef.
And just this very morning, the wee one came up to me, all excited, and said, "Hey! You know how sometimes you get water poop? Well I just had completely liquid poop!"
So there's that.
I think we're about to have some kind of awesome trifecta of fuckedupedness as each of the kids trade illnesses in a circular pattern until we all end up laying on the kitchen floor surrounded by our own filth.
This means I may not be able to liveblog the Grammy's tonight. I will try, dear friends. I promise to try. And if all else fails, I can liveblog the whole family laying on the kitchen floor surrounded by our own filth. Maybe we can get aLifetime made-for-TV movie out of it. "The Haikuoftheday Household: Oxygen, Poop and Hysteria. Or, the story of one mother's struggle to have it all, if "all" counts as one day of three square meals, not traumatizing the children by screaming at them, and 8 hours of sleep."
I'm going to go take off my pants Lady Gaga-style and have some toast before the liquified shit hits the fan.
This post is so gross.