This has been the scene around here for most of the week. Two sicks boys, lots of T.V. watching. I am pretty sure Mikey coughed every last germ out of his body between the hours of 2:00am and 6:00am yesterday morning. Coughed them on to me, that is, since I was trying to snuggle him back to sleep. A complete failure, by the way. Viral pathogenesis, on the other hand, was a smashing success. I spent the better part of last night convinced I had a brown rice cracker shard lodged in my throat. Alas, there is no cracker, just a common cold. It could be worse. I could have a man-cold.
I feel a bit like this guy, the only primrose I have ever met with entitlement issues. We live in a desert-like environment. Not actually the desert, but certainly not coastal, either. Consequently, most of our home and garden shops feature drought resistant, sun-loving plants. Our home, on the other hand, sits beneath two sky-scraping trees that cast enough shade year round to make it seem like winter in Sweden. Everything we bring home promptly dies a sun-starved death, so most of our beds are barren because of this. Two beds flank our side entrance, the one everyone uses to enter the house. Tired of greeting guests with dirt, no matter how loamy, we went to Home Depot just before Christmas and appraised them of the situation. The only plant they could recommend, and halfheartedly at that, was a primrose. We bought a few as a test run and, for the most part, everyone seems to be getting along except for this guy. His fellow bed mates can go a week without watering, but this primo donno is all “up in leaves” if I so much as let 24 hours pass without paying him attention. If this primrose was a person he would be Jon Gosselin.
Two hours and two cups of water later. I rest my case.