![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
And so, Adam's Grand and Glorious Parenting Adventure goes onward, ever onward.
Nik's got himself a lovely virus going, which means it's going to be a long night, methinks. He has a habit of coughing himself awake when the respiratory nasties come a-callin', and call they have (I don't call this house "the giant petri dish" for nothing). Nik's coughing sounds particularly nasty, one of those phlegmy, wheezing jobbers that sound like he's dislodging his thyroid. Mind you, this ahsn't affected his mood in the slightest, since he still bounces around like an otter in a Chuck E. Cheese ball pit. The only time he's in a bad mood is when we're trying to administer Motrin for the fever; at this stage, tattooing him would be easier.
Abbey, on the other hand, is her usual chipper self, more so now that birthday party plans are officially under way. The party in question will be held at the Fun Spot, formerly Skateland, and Abbey is soooo looking forward to it. (The grownups, less so.) Daddy's job today was handwriting 15 Finding Nemo invitations, which he was glad he got done quickly because if his manager at work had caught him he'd be a dead man.
I actually had some catching up to do, because yesterday I managed to commit several heinous and unforgivable crimes in the space of about 45 minutes:
1) picking Ms. Abigael up from the after-school program early, before she got her snack;
2) saying that the happy meals we'd be buying would be purchased at the drive-up window, thus depriving her of valuable crazed-lunatic-sugar-high time in the McDonald's Playroom;
3) telling her that Grandma was sick (not something you want to tell a 6-year-old drama queen who has already been weeping over lesser crises for 30 minutes);
4) playing a CD other than the one I burned for her last Christmas;
5) not handing over all the money in the change sorter in the van, as is her Daughterly Right.
*sigh* I can say with authority that Mariah Carey's handlers have it easy.
Nik's got himself a lovely virus going, which means it's going to be a long night, methinks. He has a habit of coughing himself awake when the respiratory nasties come a-callin', and call they have (I don't call this house "the giant petri dish" for nothing). Nik's coughing sounds particularly nasty, one of those phlegmy, wheezing jobbers that sound like he's dislodging his thyroid. Mind you, this ahsn't affected his mood in the slightest, since he still bounces around like an otter in a Chuck E. Cheese ball pit. The only time he's in a bad mood is when we're trying to administer Motrin for the fever; at this stage, tattooing him would be easier.
Abbey, on the other hand, is her usual chipper self, more so now that birthday party plans are officially under way. The party in question will be held at the Fun Spot, formerly Skateland, and Abbey is soooo looking forward to it. (The grownups, less so.) Daddy's job today was handwriting 15 Finding Nemo invitations, which he was glad he got done quickly because if his manager at work had caught him he'd be a dead man.
I actually had some catching up to do, because yesterday I managed to commit several heinous and unforgivable crimes in the space of about 45 minutes:
1) picking Ms. Abigael up from the after-school program early, before she got her snack;
2) saying that the happy meals we'd be buying would be purchased at the drive-up window, thus depriving her of valuable crazed-lunatic-sugar-high time in the McDonald's Playroom;
3) telling her that Grandma was sick (not something you want to tell a 6-year-old drama queen who has already been weeping over lesser crises for 30 minutes);
4) playing a CD other than the one I burned for her last Christmas;
5) not handing over all the money in the change sorter in the van, as is her Daughterly Right.
*sigh* I can say with authority that Mariah Carey's handlers have it easy.
