From Decongestant to Destruction

Okay, I'm just going to go ahead and say the thing we're not supposed to say as parents.  You won't judge, right?

It's a nice break when my kids are sick.

Would I prevent it if I could?  Absolutely.  Would I prefer them to be healthy?  Of course.  But alas, I don't control the fates any better than I can control my own hair, so I figure that there is no harm in enjoying the few benefits that may come with a cold that leaves my boys a bit under the weather.

First, the snuggles.  Oh, how they want to sit on my lap and have me rub their backs, or stroke their hair just like when they were very little.  And as long as I am able to steer clear of the clammy head/runny nose region, I get as much contentment out of the experience as they do.

Secondly, my boys are never as agreeable as when they are under the weather. 

"Cael, would you please eat your broccoli?" 
"Sure, Mom."
"Graham, are you ready to take your nap?" 
"Yeah, I'm sleepy."

But the best, most tolerable and, dare I say enjoyable parts of their suffering is that neither of my offspring are in any condition to continue their campaign for the systematic destruction of my home. 

On any given morning, I dread descending the fourteen stairs to the boys' bedroom and family room, where they have likely been awake since dawn dumping out toilet water and throwing projectiles at the moving ceiling fan.  When they first begin to feel ill, their antics are somewhat less physical, the boys opting instead to somehow access and poorly alter the system settings on our computer, but when their colds are in full force, they simply sleep.

I get to sneak quietly into their room and rouse them gently, kissing their faces and nuzzling their sleep-matted hair as they cross from asleep to awake.  They reach for hugs again, and they ask about medicine.

In short, when they are sick, they need me again.

But as much as I savor those sniffling moments of closeness, I want them healthy.  I want them to go to school and learn; to run and play.  So instead of saying the things I'm not supposed to say, I do the things a mom is supposed to do.  I wash their hands, take their temperatures and push the fluids.  And before I know it, I have to smile (and sigh) when I see underpants hanging from the fan and feel water under my feet.  Because, after all, a mischievous boy is a healthy boy.

"Mom, Graham was swinging on the towel rack and it ripped out of the wall!"

Anyone's kids feeling under the weather?  The Foreman boys are available for playdates...