It was my turn to spend the day at home with the sick little boy today. Only I feel like I’ve been struck down with the same thing he’s got, so even if I didn’t have to be at home with Juniordwarf, I would have been home trying to recover anyway.
He seems to be fine at first. He goes through energetic phases, and then suddenly crashes without a moment’s notice.
I tried to get him to rest up on the couch with me this morning, but he obviously missed his school routine because he set his chair up, put his teddies on the mat and went through the morning routine from school – calling the roll and then writing up on the board what they’d be doing today.
Um, no Juniordwarf, we are not doing all that stuff. We are going to rest.
He had other ideas, until just after lunch, when I was feeling absolutely terrible, and insisted we try and go to sleep for a while.
He wanted to build a train track. I was desperate to sleep. He really wanted the train track.
Okay, okay, AFTER we’ve had a sleep. Then we can build a train track.
At this point he completely crashed, started crying, wanted more medicine, insisted we were going to build the train track, and finally I had to carry him to bed. Then he wanted me to read a story. I didn’t have a book on hand (but I was starting to think I needed to have a copy of Go The F*ck to Sleep on hand for times like these) so I started to make a story up. I thought that might put him to sleep, but it only put me to sleep instead.
After we’d finally managed to get some rest, he was up and about again, while all I wanted was more sleep. The next thing I knew he’d got the wool out of his craft box and was cutting lengths of it to lay down in lines along the floor.
They were lines showing the way from the kitchen to his seat at the dining table; his bedroom to the bathroom; the stove to the bench; to show me the way from the hallway to my bedroom; and so on, all over the house.
Just in case we forget the way, I guess.
And we never did build a train track.