Last week I had two boys down sick, rotating halfway through the week. Sunday my daughter began to whine and complain. At first I chalked it up to her red hair. (Yes, I SAID IT!) But then she mentioned her throat. Ughhhh here we go again.
She had a temperature for two days. I stayed home with her Monday playing nurse Mommy. You never want them sick, but it sure feels good when they need you, doesn’t it?
Now, rewind a bit to Monday morning. I had to get the boys up for the regular morning school routine. We have (HAD!) an old ottoman that the dog took over as her own. Make that the dogs. The furry one and the teenage one. Between the two, this thing was beginning to get stinky, but it sure was comfy.
It is (was) also a regular spot for my middle son. Yes, my wonderful, funny and unpredictable son. Except when it comes to food and trash. There, he is totally predictable. No matter what I say or do, that boy leaves food and trash everywhere.
The places I find things are almost laughable. If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry, so why not laugh? You can talk to him until you are blue in the face. You can punish him up and down. You can take away everything that he owns. But he will still leave that wrapper under the mouse pad. Or in your shoe. Or in the refrigerator.
He happily cleans it up when told. But the pattern continues. I roll my eyes and raise my hands to the heavens.
So back to Monday morning. My oldest is asleep on the dog–teenager ottoman. I gently say, “Honeyyyy….. time to wake upppp…. rise and shiiii ummmm what is THAT?!” In a sleep stupor, my son rolls over. What is in his hair? White, fluffy… mashed potatoes?! Then I hear a CLINK underneath him. I pull up the cushion and voila. My middle son’s leftover green beans, mashed potato and chicken wing dinner, still intact on the plate. Except for what is in his brother’s hair. And on his shirt. And between the cushions.
Yes, my middle boy even topped himself. He ate some of his dinner, then neatly tucked it under the couch cushion. And his older brother slept in it. NIIIIICCCEEEEEE.
So the boys leave, my daughter crashes and I get to work. This sucker was heavy. I took off the cushions, tilted it on its side and began to flip flop it out the back door. Down the stairs. (Bam bam bam!) Across the yard and to the trash. (Clink Clink Clink) Clink clink clink? We are missing keys. I heard some clinking. Pause. OK. I’m going in.
Rip the fabric and arm up through the innards. Ewww. Paper. Wrappers. Crumbs. Money. Socks. Food. And…. Are you ready?
Not sure what it is? Here, take a closer look.
Yup. It’s a Cicada. In my chair. In my house. The best part? When I mentioned it to my son, he said, “Ohhhh so THAT’S where I left it!”
What have you found in YOUR couch?
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