Early this morning it was discovered that Luke (a.k.a Brother) was running a high fever so S-I-L took him to the emergency room. I navigated my morning schedule around Ben (a.k.a. Pal) and Madyson (a.k.a. Brenda Blue) who was still sleeping. I took my shower and had breakfast while Pal drank his bottle sitting in the bouncer watching Caillou.
Because that's how I parent.
Anyway, when Brenda Blue woke up she questioned Brother's absence which led to a conversation that went something like this.
"Where's Brother?"
"Mommy took him to the doctor."
"Oh, no. Nunni, if he goes to the doctor, he'll come back with a baby."
Now question my parental abilities if you must, but I do know it's not appropriate to laugh in their little faces. So, I turned around to laugh. Then I told her that there would be no more babies.
This, my friends, is what your children start to think if you have 3 kids within 5 years. Hospital = Baby.
Notice that we also teach concern and compassion at our house because she cared not that the poor boy was sick. Her only concern was that there would be another child to compete with for attention.
I am somehow convinced that Brother's sickness is related to the incident with the chickens last night.
He and my mother had a conversation like this last night.
Brother: "Those are guns. (pointing to the locked gun cabinet on the wall of my dad's shop) They go pow-pow. Give me one of those guns."
Mother: "No. What do you think you need a gun for."
Brother: "To shoot that chicken." (pronounced sh-icken)
Mother: "Why would you shoot a chicken"
Brother: "He bit me!"
So Brother must have something similar to bird flu from the chicken bite he suffered.
Please before you email me lecturing on guns and children. Don't. I'm not a fan of children knowing what guns are or volunteering to shoot biting chickens, but what can I do. I'm not his mother to prevent this type of knowledge and even then, they're going to know what guns are. He's a little boy.
Let me enjoy the funny story that it was.
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