So, last night H was away, which is usually a good deal for me, because it leads to a more reliable atmosphere in the house, and D1 feels like The Man of the House and is very helpful and agreeable. Except last night. Because he was sick as a dog with a cold.
Naturally, D2 felt like he needed to contribute and immediately got the case of the whines.
Of course, I had to forget to buy tomatoes for this salmon dish I was going to make, and we did not even have any canned diced kind, so that didn't work, and D1 was too miserable to have any differently prepared salmon. So we had spaghetti and meatballs. Except the cans of tomato sauce refused to get opened with the can opener. And I mean, I know I can be a ditz when I rush (and have a whiny toddler in tow), but these cans... were something special. So I just went old school on them with a hammer and screw driver. No can will tell me if I can open it or not!
So far so good. D1 had to be kept away from D2 to avoid contagion, which meant the two just sat across the dinner table and talked at each other miserably - D1 because his throat was raspy and D2 because, maaaan, the attentions! He neeeeded them!
After dinner I loaded D1 with tea and honey, slathered him with this tried-and-true Korean salve thing and sent him to bed for a nap while me and D2 tried to play quietly. Quietly was a challenge, because of the whines, but D1 was so sick, he fell asleep anyway. After D2 was asleep (which also took longer than it normally does, because, maaaaan, attentions!), I woke D1 up, got some hot milk and honey in him and he miserably (but very responsibly) did his homework while I decided if cleaning the kitchen or working on trend report was more important. Kitchen won out.
Now here is the fun part. I had the bed all to myself last night. D2 slept in his crib like a good boy, so Chime could have luxuriated in my hair all night long, if she wanted to, but nooooooo. She slept in the closet, on the pile of H's sweaters.
You see, during normal times, she wants to snuggle with me SOOO BAD! She will even jump up in my lap while I work, climb up to my shoulders, and try to perch precariously, like some kind of Spider-Kitty, with one leg on my shoulder, two braced against the back of the chair, and one dangling nonchalantly in my face, purring like a vibrating massager and drooling (if she's REALLY happy). Idyll. I know.
At night, she's got a lot of competition, from H and D2 (the latter finding his way to our bed sometimes and me not having any recollection when or how that happened). So, you'd think that with such a golden opportunity, she'd be a hair hog. Nope! She was moping and mourning the possible loss of her beloved Daddy. I know, because I kept waking up all night, worrying that D2 threw his covers off and will get a cold, as well. She never made an appearance, so around 3:20 am, my brain made what to it seemed a very logical conclusion and freaked out that she had died.
Maybe it's because 'bed' and 'dead' rhyme? Who knows.
Anyway, my concerned/panicked brain made me get up and go check on the cat, because, apparently, checking on the two boys is just not enough (oh, and I was up late working on the stupid trend report anyway). I found her in the closet, moodily furring up H's top sweater, and she glared at me like, did I mind? She was holding a wake for her tragically lost owner.
Today, when H came home, she looked at him, like, "What? You're home? But, I mourned your passing already! My, this is embarrassing!" And left.
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