"What in the name of potatoes?"

The above quote is from a cartoon farmer who was questioning what was happening in his barnyard in the middle of the night...I thought it was appropriate to this post because, really, I'm not sure what's going on here. A run-down of last night: Little Bit and Kiddo played in LB's room quietly and happily for almost 40 minutes while I cleaned, separated laundry and generally fussed around the house and Hubby made dinner. They Might Be Giants album Flood playing jauntily in the background, both kids would occasionally stop what they were doing to dance disjointedly in the ways of the very young and uncoordinated. This was, what I now refer to as, "The Calm Before The Storm." Kiddo spent a good 10 minutes helping me sort laundry. He was so excited to be able to help and I was very happy to have the help. He was my little runner. I'd pick up a piece of laundry and say, "Daddy's pile!" or "[Kiddo's] pile!" and he'd duck around the corner into the hallway to deposit said article of clothing on the appropriate pile. He even said to Hubby, "Daddy! Watch me! I'm helping Mom!" Hubby made pancakes and bacon for dinner - at my suggestion - because we didn't want to go out and spend money and neither of us had any other inspiration for food. Kiddo ate well, but Little Bit flatly refused to eat. She spent the 30 minutes stabbing at her food with one fat little finger and screaming to get down. Finally, when Kiddo decided he had to take a shower (by himself) to get the sticky syrup off of his arm, I allowed LB her freedom. She screamed some more when she realized Kiddo was in the shower and she was not being allowed to join him. Kiddo did very well taking his first solo shower, but I had to keep reminding him that showers were for washing, not slopping around in the water at the base of the tub. After Kiddo's shower, Little Bit got a bath. She was sitting in the shallow water, confused, asking me, "Cha-ee go?" (This means, "Where is [Kiddo]?" or "Where did [Kiddo] go?") I explained to her, with perfect parent logic, that he'd already taken a shower and she had the bath tub all to herself. Her immediate response to this was a very loud, "NO!!!" and a double-handed slap of the water, which splashed me head to torso. Yay. Both kids clean, they sat and watched Noggin (ugh) for about 60 minutes. This was more quiet time in which I was able to get the laundry moving again, and was also able to go through a basket of "stuff" (a nice euphemism for something harsher that means "things that should go in the garbage" or "what the barnacles is this doing here?"). Then Little Bit went to bed and the anticipated screaming began. She cried for 40 minutes! I tried to go in there and soothe her two or three times, but every time I would think she was asleep and then put her in her bed, she'd immediately wake up and start the ear-piercing vocalizations again. Sheesh! I finally decided that enough was enough, told her in my best authoritative voice, "No. It's time to sleep now. Close your eyes and hush!" and resolved myself to listening to her until she cried herself to sleep. I hate doing that, but sometimes you gotta. Kiddo went to bed easily, wearing his knitted cap that my step-sister made for him when he was very small. (Thanks M!) He wears it occasionally like an extension of himself. I'm glad it still fits! You're probably wondering where my, "What in the name of potatoes?" comment comes from? Well, Little Bit began to cough. A deep, mucus-rattling, hoarse sound that worried me. She was tossing and turning and trying not to cough so her chest was hitching and she was obviously uncomfortable. I know exactly how that feels and know, also, that it is times like that when I need to sleep sitting up. So I scooped her up out of her crib, blankies and all, carried her with me into my bed, propped myself up, and settled her onto my chest. She seemed soothed, until Daddy came to bed. Then she perked up and transferred herself to Daddy's chest - but this only lasted for less than one minute. She eventually wound up sleeping soundly (and sweatily) between us for most of the night. I felt better having her there because I knew any breathing troubles on her part would wake me up. She had a couple coughing fits, but otherwise slept pretty well. I, on the other hand, did not sleep well. I cannot speak for Hubby, but I'm guessing he didn't sleep any better than I did. Yep - both kids are mucus factories right now - and it's so lovely, let me tell you. Neither of them have a fever, and neither of them seem particularly bothered by their state of wellness (or lack of), but we're watching them closely...just in case a visit to the doctor is necessary. It probably doesn't seem like last evening was too bad, but it was very frustrating from my stand point. Even if I did manage to get several loads of laundry done - I accomplished something, can you believe it? TTFN JMS PS: Oh yeah. I forgot to mention that in one of LB's fits of rage last night (man, she was a whirlwind) she smacked her head, twice, into mine. Hard. The first time she got me on the eye brow just above and to the outside of my right eye. No visible bruise, but I sure can feel it. The second time she smashed her head into my upper lip. This one really hurts because the impact made my teeth cut open the underside of my lip. My tooth should be loose! Again, no visible brusing, but my lip is swollen and sore. Good gravy...what next?