Over the weekend, I came down with a debilitating disease—a cross between Smallpox and Ebola. This malady struck really bad at night and left my throat feeling like it'd been carved up with a straight razor. It's kept me awake several nights in a row now so that by morning, I'm exhausted and finally able to sleep.
Naturally, the second I fall asleep, the alarms go off. Mr. Snark and I both use our phones to wake up. His begins the day with a sweet lullaby; mine bleats out the raucous beat of jungle drums. The phones go off at the same time so it sounds like The Battle of the Boom Box.
I promptly rolled over onto my back and allowed my tongue to loll out of my mouth. Glassy-eyed, I stared at the ceiling. Eventually, Mr. Snark rose and turned both of the phones off.
Mr. Snark poked me. "Are you alive?"
I grunted but otherwise remained immobile. Eventually, Mr. Snark left to awaken The Middle Child. For the record, the Middle Child is ten. He is friendly, cooperative, and self-sufficient (for the most part). Probably because he hasn't turned thirteen yet and been sucked into the black hole that his room is destined to become in three years.
Then, presumably, Mr. Snark dealt with The Baby. The Baby is two-and-a-half. We call her Miss Bear even though she is, allegedly, a human child. Her specialties include heightening in order to get into stuff and making messes. Sometimes she heightens in order to make messes. Miss Bear is very versatile.
Mr. Snark returned to my deathbed. "Am I supposed to pack The Middle Child a lunch?"
Mrs. Snark croaked a reply. "No, only a snack. Tuesday and Friday are the days we pack lunch. The rest of the time he buys."
A while later, Mr. Snark returned again. "Are you going to get up? I have to take The Boy* to school."
Mrs. Snark: "Well, I was thinking about lying here until I die or you do something funny so I can get up and blog about it."
Mr. Snark: "I have a Geek Squad software meeting at 9:30 a.m."
My eyes bulged open. "You're going to leave me here alone with The Baby and that psychotic Siamese cat? It's supposed to be 'till death do us part', but that doesn't mean that you're supposed to actively help me along!"
Mr. Snark: "Rocket Squirrel isn't trying to kill you. Besides, he's currently in the garage."
RJ Squirrel is the apple of my husband's eye. In his view, the cat can do no wrong. Mr. Snark doesn’t see things as clearly as I do—that cat is out to get me.
I got out of bed anyway, hauled my carcass downstairs and resumed my duties as Mom. If this is my final post, then I wanted the world to know—the cat got me while I was too weak to defend myself.
*The Boy is my oldest son.