3 out of 5 of el Cinco has the cooties. Frank had to pick Kyra up from school after she'd been there for barely an hour. She went to the nurse's office with a headache and Frank was called after it was determined that she was running a fever of 101.2. Before the day was over, Frank had to go back to pick up Jordan, who was in the nurse's office with a 102 degree fever. Kaelyn the Tiny Tyrant is yelling and growling and snarling because she is a BIG! SCARY! MONSTER! RAAAWWRRR! I GONNA BITE YOUR ELBOW OFF, MOMMY!, but when she came at me with clawed fingers and pretended to amputate the bottom half of my arm with her teeth, I noticed that I could feel feverish waves of heat rolling from her little body. 101.4.
Everyone requested chicken soup (with the stars, not the noodles) and Gatorade and tea and toast and crackers and other "we're sick" foods. Jordan and Kyra each ate about half a bowl of soup and nibbled a few Ritz. Kyra stopped eating when she said she had the bubbleguts and Jordan pushed his bowl away with a sudden, panicked shriek and an blast of tears – "MY STOMACH IS ABOUT TO EXPLODE!"
I jumped over the counter-height kitchen table in single bounding Superwoman leap, scooped him up, and planted him face-down over the toilet. He slobbered and hacked a few times before deciding that his stomach wasn't full of explosive kyrptonite after all.
I'm thinking of calling in tomorrow to help take care of our sickly, clammy kiddos. Eighth grade expository writing (In this essay, ima tell you bout why I think we needta have more pep rallys) vs. exploding bubblegut tummies? That's a no-brainer. Pass me the pukebucket and the Children's Tylenol.
Oh, shizzle – chicken and star-spangled spewage is all over the rug. Mount St. Jordan just erupted.