V is for Valentine (and also for Virus)

"Cupid, just aim that thing at my jugular and put me out of my misery already!"

That's how I felt on Valentine's Day. The kids, all four of them, were (and still are) sick. That nasty kind of sick where one keeps Kleenex brand in business. The kind where you lose the battle to keep surfaces germ-free. The kind where Mom inevitably ends up sick herself and then has to get up, tie her shoes and press on. And press on we did, because folks, when your kids have been looking forward to the annual homeschool Valentine's party since last Valentine's Day, you just gotta do it (well, at least that was how *I* felt.)

I marathoned through our homeschool day, then switched gears to pack up my little snots (and the kids whose noses they were attached to), to make the 25 minute drive to the party. Brandon was the least enthused, which is just my rose colored way of saying he was popping like a tick. My little man did NOT feel good and he wasn't about to sugar coat it. Fuss. Cry. Whine. Bungee boogers. Fussy. Cry. Wine. Bungee boogers.
This is the rhythm we fell into as we made our way there. Naturally, our Pango-Pango laden van pulled in at the wrong church and I wasted precious time figuring out where the party really was. Just paint this little detour in our drive as an extra ache in my already achy body, because I assure you, Brandon saw to it. Toni loses ground.

The party.
60 kids, ages K-12, all releasing their pent up winter indoor energy in a hall that wasn't large enough, all at the same time. It was utter chaos. We walked in the door and a can of greenbeans whizzed by my head. I'd like to say I'm kidding here, but you see, our event doubled as a food drive and someone's little sweetheart (no Valentine pun intended) was anxious to drop his requisite donation in favor of a beeline for the punch bowl. Sugar! The devil's elixer. Teens were in the kitchen baking with it by the ton, while littles like my own were having a field day gobbling it down. My Olivia asked if she could have another and just let. me. tell. you. I was glad she's still innocent enough to not think to just sneak one.
"No! One sugarload is enough. Go make a card," I grumbled. She shot me the Mean Mother of the Year look and scurried off.

Cierah's eyes were glossed over from her low grade temp as she attempted to toss bean bags through a 3 foot by 4 foot heart target. It must have been hard to see through that feverish fog though, because she beaned a tween-aged boy smack in the piehole. Bullseye, give that girl a cookie!

And Reece. Oh, Reece. My little man has mild CP and some sensory deficits too. For other kids, Pin the Lips on the Valentine (a la Pin the Tail on the Donkey) is a great game. For Reece? Blindfold that boy and spin him around umpteen times and he might as well be walking home from China. Dear me, those lips ended up a good 7 feet from their intended target. I had to love the little tweeny volunteer though. She took the blindfold off and Reece kind of looked perplexed, as if to say, "How is that possible?" She quickly plucked the misplaced lips from their remote location and cheerfully said, "Great job! I think you almost put them here so we'll just move 'em." With that, she stuck them right close to the intended target.
Give that girl a cookie too.

And people, my plan was, and I quote, "We're only staying for a short time. When I say we're out of there, I better not hear a single argument." All agreed. Yeah, well, Toni loses more ground, because don'tcha know it, Valentines weren't being passed out until the end of the party. And what would a party be without going into after-hours? Uh, huh. Our party ran into overtime. A good 30 minutes worth. That's over TWO HOURS of sugared up, 60 kids strong, sick baby kicking your tail, good times (as if). Oh, just pour the love right into me.

And tell me this, if you will. Why, oh why do people want to chit-chat with you when it's clear (as mud, apparently) that your baby is not a happy camper; that while your kids are happily tossing beanbags, you're busy with a little game of your own, called JUMPING THROUGH HOOPS TO KEEP YOUR SICK BABY HAPPY (no comments on that grammatically monstrous run-on sentence). Well, okay, one mom did get it. I know because she warmly greeted me when she saw me at the start of the party and I shared with her that Brandon was sick but that I couldn't bring myself to rain on the other kids' excitement. Later, when I walked up to her as we waited for our kids to pass out their Valentines, she subtly shifted her toddler into her other arm and slighty turned away from me. I'd have to say she preferred a cookie over exposure to the plague. Ya think? ;)

Toni