I May Be a Zombie

altElizabeth has been sick for over two weeks now which means my brain – the brain that used to be able to recall things like social security numbers, birthdays, and shoe sizes – is mush.

Or I’m a zombie.

Either way, if there’s one thing we know, it’s that children will take advantage as soon as they sense weakness.

So far, I’ve agreed to ice cream for dinner, co-sleeping, chocolate in their milk, TV before bed, and taking Joseph on a Dinosaur Dig in Colorado.

I have no idea how he sneaked that one past my muddled brain.

I was able to push it out to a more vague “when you’re older” but the child has an alarmingly long memory.

In the meantime, Elizabeth has been wearing princess dresses as regular clothes and I think one of her aunts bought her red cowboy boots.

The only good thing about this mush like state is that brainless activities – shredding old bills, weeding, folding laundry – are all being done at an alarmingly proficient rate. My kitchen is being cleaned each night and I’ve caught up on all my DVR’d America’s Got Talent episodes. Things like paying my bills and putting gas in the car have been falling to the wayside.

I’m hoping there’s an end in sight. Her chest x-rays have come back showing pneumonia. Some antibiotics and a few days rest and she should be as good as new.

As for me, it’s nothing 48 hours in a hotel with room service, endless bottles of champagne, 600 thread count sheets, no less than six pillows, and at least three good books won’t cure.