I've invented a new term to describe just how miserable I feel today: ASSish. That's right, I feel pretty darned assish today. The kids' colds have finally caught up to me. I'm cranky, achy, short-tempered, my frontal lobe feels like it has elephantitis and I have that perpetual sneezy feeling behind my eyes.
To make matters worse, Ana woke up at 4:30 a.m. this morning in a very poor mood. She and I took turns creating yoga poses in bed until we finally found a position that worked. Then we went back to sleep. I could hear Shelby's shallow coughing getting closer when, at exactly 6:33, she appeared in my bed. Fine. There were three in the bed and the mommy said, "Go to sleep! I'm feeling assish."
All of a sudden there was a harking, then a deep guttural yak, and then Shelby, better known as "Miss Wanna-Hawk-A-Loogey" harked up a snot ball right there on my sheets. Great. Assish just got more appropriate. Everyone, evacuate. Mommy has to clean up the loogey in her bed. When we were all situated again, Ana had had enough-she was ready to start her day. So, I did what every good mother does when feeling assish. I armed her with her binky, her blankey, and set her fat little feet on the floor to wander the empty house alone. Because I didn't really care what mischief she got into at 6:38 a.m. Have a ball, kid, mommy feels assish.
Just as I had settled back into a comfortable resting position, evaluating all the aches and snotty pains from my neck up, I heard the pitter patter of tiny feet approach. "Ugh-ugh-ugh...up." I gathered her and her giant blankey up off the floor and slid her into bed. And that's when assish got a whole new meaning. Cold, wet, and sweet smelling slid across the sheets and smeared down my arm.
"What the?!?!?!?!" Upon further evaluation I realized that "Teeny Houdini" had managed to get her hands on an opened bottle of Infant Motrin (good child-proofing) and had subsequently dumped the bottle into my bed when I picked her up.
If that's not the ideal definition of Assish, I don't know what is. I'm awake. I'm out of bed. I'm snotty AND sticky. I'm feeling assish.
To make matters worse, Ana woke up at 4:30 a.m. this morning in a very poor mood. She and I took turns creating yoga poses in bed until we finally found a position that worked. Then we went back to sleep. I could hear Shelby's shallow coughing getting closer when, at exactly 6:33, she appeared in my bed. Fine. There were three in the bed and the mommy said, "Go to sleep! I'm feeling assish."
All of a sudden there was a harking, then a deep guttural yak, and then Shelby, better known as "Miss Wanna-Hawk-A-Loogey" harked up a snot ball right there on my sheets. Great. Assish just got more appropriate. Everyone, evacuate. Mommy has to clean up the loogey in her bed. When we were all situated again, Ana had had enough-she was ready to start her day. So, I did what every good mother does when feeling assish. I armed her with her binky, her blankey, and set her fat little feet on the floor to wander the empty house alone. Because I didn't really care what mischief she got into at 6:38 a.m. Have a ball, kid, mommy feels assish.
Just as I had settled back into a comfortable resting position, evaluating all the aches and snotty pains from my neck up, I heard the pitter patter of tiny feet approach. "Ugh-ugh-ugh...up." I gathered her and her giant blankey up off the floor and slid her into bed. And that's when assish got a whole new meaning. Cold, wet, and sweet smelling slid across the sheets and smeared down my arm.
"What the?!?!?!?!" Upon further evaluation I realized that "Teeny Houdini" had managed to get her hands on an opened bottle of Infant Motrin (good child-proofing) and had subsequently dumped the bottle into my bed when I picked her up.
If that's not the ideal definition of Assish, I don't know what is. I'm awake. I'm out of bed. I'm snotty AND sticky. I'm feeling assish.
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