So, Davis has been sick for the last two days. Snot has been dripping like a leaky faucet and he tries to wipe it on the back of his hand or up his sleeve, then he runs around touching as many things as possible as I chase him trying to clean off his hand. Needless to say, I am pretty sure the germs are 2 inches thick, despite my best efforts to sanitize.
Because he is sick, he seems to need a little extra attention. For the last two mornings, he has decided that I should sit where he chooses. Yesterday it was the bottom stair while he brought his books across the room from his bookshelf.... one by one.....and insisted I hold them in a pile on my lap. Later, it was his little step stool next to the couch. He didn't really want to play with me while I was sitting there, so I thought he might not notice if I slipped up to sit on the soft couch. Nope. He noticed and started whining "Mom. Sit. Stool." So I went back to the little stool. Only because he is sick and miserable. There is a good chance there will be two of us sick and miserable soon.
Tonight as I was getting dinner ready, Davis ran into the kitchen with the clear bin we use for recycling over his head like a helmet. He ran back out, through the living room, and back in again. Several times. Darren said, "That is your son." I said, "No, my son is the one who can say his ABC's and count to 13. Your son is the one running around with the recycle bin on his head." Luckily, I think Davis will turn out very well-rounded. And it will come one experience at a time. And if that takes feeling what it is like to have a recycle bin on his head, then so be it.
Hopefully he will feel better tomorrow. And I will be able to choose where I sit. And not find dried snot on everything, including myself.