It could only be worse if my husband were whining, too

Our dependence on foreign oil would be ended forever if the government could harness the power of my children’s whine.

The flu is in our house. Baby PoppySeed had it first, but she is the only one of us who received the vaccination this winter, so she got over it quickly. All that’s left for her is a straggling cold. Two-year-old Sweetpea has the flu now, and has for three days. She is a desperate, clingy snot fountain, and wants to do nothing but lie in my arms all day. Unfortunately, PoppySeed is showing her first signs of sibling rivalry, and offers a pouty-lipped wail of jealousy if I dare to hold Sweetpea instead of her.

I sat Sweetpea in front of a movie, popped PoppySeed in the pack-n-play with a bagel to chew on, and was just getting the dishes in the dishwasher when four-year-old JellyBean snuck up behind me, holding out her bowl like Oliver Twist.

“Mama,” she said, sweetly. “May I have some more Froot Loops?”

Then she dropped the cheap bowl (”On ACCIDENT!”) and it shattered into dozens of sole-piercing shards all over the kitchen floor. I hastily reassured her that I knew it was an accident (thus preventing more wailing), then shooed her out of the kitchen so I could search on my knees for all the pieces.

Sweetpea, who does not obey me, came into the kitchen in bare feet to see what was going on. I ordered her out in my sternest voice, so she collapsed in sobs on the floor instead. I picked her up under one arm, carried her back to her movie and went back to my shard-hunting.

The floor has been swept now and, if past experience is good for anything, the last few pieces of sharp whatever-that-stuff-is-called are waiting to impale my feet at the next unexpected moment. Which is fine, since a splinter in my foot beats picking one out of a crawling baby’s bleeding chest.

I put the two sick kids down for naps which they howled about for five minutes (”I AM NOT TIRED!”) before dropping off to sleep. I was just enjoying the silence when I heard JellyBean call successfully to her sister, “Wake up, Baby PoppySeed!”

This time I howled, “You never wake a sleeping baby!” The baby started crying again and JellyBean flung herself on the couch, sobbing, “I only wanted to play with PoppySeed!”

I held them both till they stopped crying, then I came up here to write this. PoppySeed is whining in my lap this very moment.

I need five minutes to breathe.

Last night, I put Sweetpea to bed and she insisted that I lie down with her and snuggle. I lay down, and she curled up, facing me. I began to sing “Jesus Loves Me,” and in her infected, raspy squeak of a voice, she sang along. She could only get out about every other word, but it was possibly the cutest thing I have ever seen.

I am trying to keep my mind focused on that cuteness as I await the next catastrophe. Az the Husband works all weekend, so I am on my own with these children until late Monday night. It is currently only 9 am on Sunday, and I am not feeling so well myself.

If you don’t hear from me by Tuesday, send in the marines.