it is monday, and i have a cold

Mondays are lovely days here. The Mister shoves the short people out the door and takes them away to homeschool group, where they study science and he teaches art, and some of them do writing and some of the others don’t do writing. There is some cold medicine involved over here, so the details are a wee bit fuzzy.

Unrelated:┬áthere was a pig-snort sound that just happened underneath the table that’s under the television. I’m going to pretend that didn’t happen.

So The Mister takes the children away and they do not return for hours and hours which means 1) I am alone in my own home; 2) there is nobody to tell me how many cups of coffee I’ve already had; and 3) I can watch at least three hours of lectures (one class) plus do a little more work after. It’s divine.

It’s also our thirteenth wedding anniversary today. Both of us feel sort of rotten, so we stayed in opposite corners, and acknowledged exceptional sneezes and excessive coughing with concerned eyebrows.

Yes, concerned eyebrows. That happens when you would like to express sympathy, but moving any actual part of your body is out of the question, and changing facial expressions or head position would result in Snotagara Falls exploding all over your face. It is possible to move one’s eyebrows without incurring the wrath of Snotagara.

Sometimes on Mondays, we allow the lads to stay up late to “watch The Voice” which really is code for “play Minecraft quietly”. They “watched The Voice” tonight (ahem), and the littlest lad just couldn’t walk up the stairs. I don’t know where he gets his drama from, honest. The Mister picked him up and started to poke him to make him laugh. Soon the littlest lad was squealing uproariously.

I sat on the sofa and cried. The wrath of Snotagara Falls was swift and harsh. Sometimes I am such a girl! I cried because soon he will not be little, and he won’t have that sweet little boy laugh. I cried because I can’t remember what the other three sounded like when they belly laughed at that age.

AND THEN. Miss O, who is 11.75 years old, looked up at me and asked why I was crying. I blubbered an answer, and she got up from where she was curled up reading, and gave me an enormous hug. It was a pretty amazing moment.

I thought I was recovered, but now I’m tempting The Wrath again. Take pictures and make recordings of your babies when they are small, because you will be very sad when they are large and smelly instead of┬átiny and smelly.