Oreo Pie, How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count The Ways!

Well, I’m happy to report that it wasn’t the Oreo pie.

The boy was home from school today with the stomach bug, which completely allows us to pin the blame on Cousin K for sharing the germs that he had last week.  I’m kind of excited about that, because I certainly didn’t want Oreo pie to be dead to me from here on out, and that is what tends to happen when I unload a major food group in an unsavory way.

Take potato bread.  Hubs and I were potato-bread lovers in days of old.  And then I got pregnant with the boy, and I experienced my all-day sickness (which is what I had, because morning sickness was so limiting), and I threw up potato bread toast in my toilet.

I can barely type the words potato bread without wanting to gag and shudder.  I haven’t had a single slice since the year 2000.

Take mushrooms.  Hubs loved and adored the mushrooms in days of old.  In fact, he wowed me on one of our first dates by grilling steaks and making brandied mushrooms for dinner.  (I saw this as a sign that THE MAN CAN COOK, so… you know… MARRY HIM!)  And then I made a beef stroganoff in the crockpot that called for some mushrooms.  And by some mushrooms, I mean BUY ALL THE MUSHROOMS AT THE GROCERY STORE, BECAUSE THIS IS BASICALLY A MUSHROOM DISH WITH A FEW NOODLES IN IT.  The stroganoff was obviously a recipe for the Duggar family, because we had leftovers for two months.  Somewhere after the first week of our mushroom extravaganza, Hubs got sick and puked.

He hasn’t willingly eaten a mushroom since 2002.

And Oreo pie is such a precious food; it’s nice to know we can still keep it on the list of THINGS WE CAN EAT BECAUSE WE HAVEN’T HAD IT COME OUT OUR NOSTRILS YET.

So that’s how today shook down.  The boy was at home, in bed.  He alternated between moaning about how sick he was to sitting up and declaring his boredom for the world to hear.  He slept most of the day.  I ended up getting a sub for my PE classes this afternoon, because every boy needs his mama when he’s bent over a toilet unloading a food that he’ll never eat again in his life.

I wandered around the house, dabbling at a few chores, checking on the boy, and pulling Thing 2 off of everything that he has decided to climb.

Because?  Have you heard?  Thing 2 can pull himself up on things now.  He’s very proud of himself, in fact, and he pulls himself up on EVERY! THING!  Pulling himself up on the coffee table… the steps… the baby swing… the barstools… the dining room table legs… always results in him tipping over and cracking his head on the hardwood floors.

Yes, Thing 2 is sort of crawling, too.  I’m not sure you can call it an actual textbook crawl, because he does the paralyzed soldier escaping from the battlefield maneuver.  He uses his arms to drag himself everywhere, while his legs flail helplessly behind him, like he’s been shot in the knee and is crawling to safety and a syringe loaded with antibiotics.

His biceps are huge.

He also learned to shout, “DAD-DAD-DAD-DAD-EEEE!” yesterday, and he hollered it until his voice was hoarse.  Thing 2 is not at all shy about being loud.  My word!  Naturally, Hubs’ chest has been a bit inflated with ALL THE PROUD, especially when he went to pick that baby up out of his crib this morning, and Thing 2 yelled, “DAD-DAD-DAD-DAD-EEEE!”

They grow up quickly.

They learn to talk about ecosystems and negative numbers and the American Revolution.  They chew beef jerky with big teeth and tie their own shoes and use a spoon without shoving it down their throats and gagging themselves.

They don’t stay babies for long.

But then, when they get sick, they need their mamas so badly.

Y’all have a great Tuesday.

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