The other day I said, “Okay. Plan B.”  I stood in the kitchen, considering options when Ethan-11yr helpfully piped up, “Oh no, Mom. You’re on Plan… D.” I asked him what the other plans had been, and he correctly laid out what my first 3 plans had been. And there’s just something too depressing about the phrase, “Plan D.” I can’t do it. Precocious 11 yr olds aside, I’d rather just perpetually be on Plan B if necessary rather than admit it’s really Plan L. Or Plan R. I’m sure that happens too, around here, and when it does, Ethan-11yr will announce it and provide detailed documentation to back it all up.

*Today was supposed to be spent in a car with a friend and 5 boys, where we would drop off 3 boys at camp and hopefully have time to talk somewhere on the way there or back, or both. That was Plan ‘A.’

But. Caden-7yr came down with an ear infection and an accompanying fever and since he was the only one of mine who was to attend, well, we stayed home.  He’s sad about missing camp and has had me repeat for him why it is not okay to drop him off at camp ANYWAY, sick,  and just politely say, “Here is my child. Please take care of him. He has a fever that needs to be watched, he has a roaring ear infection he will not acknowledge but the doctor swears is in there, and don’t mind that his precious head is held together with glue – it’s probably fine and I’ll see you in a few days. Oh, and here are all his medications, and good luck getting him to take them because he doesn’t like the flavor and has to numb his tongue with an ice cube first, sorry, I taught him that and now I can’t undo it, and also? He is WAY accident prone and if anyone in camp has any Bendaroos, don’t let him get close because then he’ll break out in a rash that you will not BELIEVE so just watch out for that, too, okay?”

Keeping him home just seemed the better way to go, yaknow?

*In other news, I have somehow managed to get over the fact that I have a husband who will do lots of yardwork against his will (even if he does make me feel all left out) because…? I have a husband who did a lot of yardwork  that he didn’t want to do and I should probably just remember to be grateful and thankful and all of that instead, because REALLY, Kels? There are probably better things to get your feelings hurt over than that.

And after he went to work today, I wandered around with various power tools and found things to do all on my own and that works, too, and I’ll be doing more of that in a minute.

*I didn’t tell y’all how it went when LaLa came. {Spoiler Alert: It went well.} LaLa brought her boyfriend and his two adorable little kids, ages 2 and 4. (I think.) Anyway. I’m thrilled with the Whole LaLa Boyfriend Idea, and generally fall apart over cute children in that age range. Or any age range. Or kids who aren’t really cute, but I think they are anyway. But these two are indisputably adorable and if it weren’t weird and unacceptable, I’d show you photos and videos and tell you stories about them, but it feels too strange since they’re not mine and all.

* I dreamed I went to Vegas to meet Jennifer and her sweet daughter, who was miraculously already 4 months old. (We had a great time.)

* Seth-5yr had a t-ball game last night. He played left field and we set up chairs far enough away so that the Seth Fan Club’s comments were heard but not directed right to me. Until the hike to the car afterwards, and then I was stopped 3 different, and equally awkward times to discuss his jaw-dropping running abilities.

* Game Days are rough on him. Whereas Caden-7yr could not be pumped up or pepped up or anything – Seth-5yr gets so wound up he gets an upset stomach (leaving it at that), and he can’t nap until I lie down with him and even then it takes an hour or more to fall asleep when it normally takes 10 minutes. I tried in vain to get a pre-game Caden-7yr pepped, and am trying – with an equal lack of success – to keep a pre-game Seth-5yr calm and clearheaded. He can’t handle the pre-game adrenaline and nerves yet. It’s  a LOT of pressure being a five year old t-ball superstar. I’d like to tell him to relax, go stomp bugs, enjoy and pick your nose a little bit in the outfield. Okay, not really. But I would like him to lighten up just enough so that he can sleep and poo normally on game days.

He’s FIVE. Chill, little dimpled boy.

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