I've had little energy for blogging lately. I've had little energy for much of anything "extra" it seems. I don't think I've taken a single photo since Christmas. I'm tired. And stretched a little thin. Evan and Andrew have been sick with a miserable and horrible cough that goes on forever and necessitates a lot of night-time attention from Nathan and I. (Don't be alarmed! We know what it is and it's very much under control and they're fine. Starting to get better, in fact.) It's been exhausting. I'm so glad Nathan takes turns with me or I wouldn't make it. And we're getting ready for a trip to Oregon to visit family and I'm so excited to be there, but first I have to get there and before that I have to get ready. And I'm tired.
So that is my litany of excuses and complaints. Now I will write some little anecdotes from today.
Jonah and I read about Suleiman, the Ottoman emperor, in Story of the World today. The book says he was named after Solomon, "the wisest ruler of the ancients". When I read that part, Jonah said, "Well. Maybe the wisest."
"What? Why 'maybe'?" I asked.
"He wasn't very wise. He had a lot of wives." Jonah answered.
I smiled. "Well... He made some foolish choices. He was a sinner. But that doesn't mean he didn't have wisdom. Do you remember what he asked for when God told him to ask for whatever he wanted?"
Jonah thought briefly and replied, "More wives."
I have often heard of raw onion being used as a sickness and cough remedy. A friend of mine pins a baggie of chopped onion into her children's jammies at night when they have coughs. I've read about onions supposedly absorbing toxins from the air, or about the "fumes" from them being healing. Maybe it's an old wives tale, but I'm actually doing everything I can think of for this sickness, so why not try the onion thing? (Don't laugh at me. I said I'm really tired.)
So I chunked up a very potent onion and put halves into two dishes to go in the kids bedrooms while they sleep. Evan saw the dish that I wanted to put in his and Jonah's room and thought I was carrying a snack. So he asked for it. I said, "It's not for eating." and handed it to him to see. He insisted on holding it and settling onto the couch for our evening "snuggle". He wouldn't put the bowl down, so I finally offered him a taste, so he would see it wasn't a snack. To my surprise, he crunched down a big bite, then another and several more. He smiled when we laughed at him, and never acted uncomfortable.
If that doesn't cure his cough, I don't know what will. Either that, or he'll be up all night with heartburn and burning thirst.
This is the child who won't eat the (very delicious, if I do say so myself) soup I made for supper, but he will eat a large piece of raw onion, as well as globs of bread dough (huuurk) and a big bite of sidewalk chalk.
Tonight while I was getting the soup ready, Andrew followed me around, crying and carrying on. I figured he just wanted my attention, and tried to engage him in getting supper ready. When I opened the dishwasher, he took out the bowl and plastic spoon he had used earlier when he ate some yogurt (and fed it to himself, I might add! It was messy, but he did it!). He followed me around with this bowl and spoon, fussing and jabbering away. When I was putting supper on the table, he put the bowl and spoon on his high-chair tray, then went back to the dishwasher to find a plate.
"Oh, Andrew, that's dirty! I'll give you a clean bowl of soup." and I put the dishes back in the dishwasher and went back to getting supper on.
Cue screaming. Next thing I knew, the exact same dishes were back on his tray and he was fussing to be lifted up. It was time to eat, so I left the dishes, put him in his chair with his soup nearby, and we started supper.
Andrew steadfastly refused to eat. After all that fussing for food, we couldn't figure out what his problem was. Finally, Nathan had the bright idea to let him use his bowl and spoon, yogurt residue notwithstanding, and he happily ate up all his soup.
And those are the stories I have to tell today. Now for some sleep, perhaps.