Just when we thought we were a-okay …

This little piggy went to daycare.
This little piggy got sent home.
This little piggy had diarrhea (supposedly).
Hmn. In fact, this little piggy had none.
This little piggy got a BAD respiratory infection,
and lay cough, cough, puke, wail, five days at home.

We are cautiously optimistic that El(Rota)vi(ru)s has left the building. Things seem a lot more solid, shall we say, in the diaper department and our Curious Tau is back again. 

Two new games this weekend:

1) Hiding Go Duck: Beg your parents to wind up bath Duck-Duck, then hide him in the big African straw basket and jam the lid on. Your parents will be amazed and confused. They can hear the duck feet going like mad, but where the heck is that duck? Silly parents — you have to show them where you hid him.

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(If you are not related by blood, feel free to skip this one.)

Rotavirus. Mesmerizing, isn’t it?

Sometimes you think a house guest is never going to leave. Meet Rotavirus. He turned up on our doorstep a couple days after Christmas, wouldn’t tell us his name and left just a few days later, around January 1st. He brought frequent and mucky bowel movements (BMs), the odd projectile hurl and a mild fever along with him, all of which we attributed to the five molars Tau was pushing at the time. We were glad to see Rotavirus go.

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At the computer last week with a sick boy on my lap. Fielding work email on one half of the screen and Tau is watching Norah Jones’ Sunrise video on the other.

I double-click a new message and it opens maximized, part-covering Norah and her band.

He lurches forward – ”Oh!” then turns to me, ”Peek-a-boo?”

Sigh. Resize the window.

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Tidying up the bathroom, says Dave, bemused, ”Was there any particular reason you put the empty container from the take-out back in the fridge?”

I clearly remember putting both styrene boxes in a grocery bag, tying it all up and dumping it in the trash in the garage. ”Which takeout?” The man I love is losing it.

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There’s a point when the darling boy curls get out of control. Tau was becoming more mad scientist each day (see this picture) and I had to restrain myself, more than once, from brushing it up into a ponytail. Time for the first haircut. 

Dave had to work Saturday morning, so I took young man down to the local Fantastic Sam’s, crossing my fingers that it would be fantastic after all. I dreamed he’d be so absorbed with the mirrors and buzz-cutter noises that he would sit perfectly still and let a stranger cut his hair. Uh huh.

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Time to pack up the tiny-baby toys. The ones he never plays with.

Never plays with until you try to pack them away. Then they become the best toys in the world.

“These? You want to pack away THESE?! Are you really my mother?!”