Putting gloves on a three year old is like putting pantyhose on an octopus.

I feel like we've been in a cave. A cave with five children, six years old and under, all of whom running fevers, but never at the same time, cause that would be too convenient. A cave that sounds much like the tuberculosis ward of a southern California hospital, as hacking coughs echo through the halls, with a nebulizer humming non-stop.

Yes, the Hudson's have the crud. All of us. The crud that knows no end. Low-grade fevers, snotty noses, hacking coughs-- you know that kind of cough where your child vomits due to choking on all the mucus that's working its way out? Oh, is that TMI? Yeah, how 'bout I had to wash our comforter three times over the past week due to kids coughing and puking in our bed. NICE. Fortunately, Bert, Her Highness and Thunder are all over it. I think.


Most of our Christmas break was spent in pj's. Which was nice at first. But, then our internet went down, along with my sanity. Granted, not wasting time on Facebook did help me to load my dishwasher before 2pm each day, (with the dishes from the night before) but I felt so out of touch. It's fixed now and I just logged on to find I'm way behind on all my blog stalking as well. I've got so many Christmas mornings to catch up on!

And this cold weather is for the birds... I live in the south for a reason. Which Bert just reminded me the reason is I was born here. He's such a smart butt.

My hat's off to all of our northern friends. How you manage children in frigid temps blows my mind. By the time I get all mine dressed and out the door, somebody is crying, usually me, and somebody already wants back inside. Pure madness. We're supposed to really warm up tomorrow though, all the way to 32! Woo-hoo.

Oh, you didn't realize you were coming to a pity party? Well, you're dressed just fine, so why not stay a bit longer?

As I said, I have new respect for all moms north of the Bible Belt. Seriously, how do you do it?? Keeping up with eight pairs of gloves (or "glubs" as my children call them) and then trying to put them on those eight little hands.... I think getting pantyhose on an octopus might be easier. And I've tried using mittens instead, but then they can't play as well, so they cry some more, and I do too. "It took me half an hour to get you all dressed, so you're staying outside more than six minutes!! And you are keeping those gloves on! Yes you are too!" I scream through the locked back door. Mother of the Year, I know I'm a total shoe-in.


Our house is a disaster: Layers of clothes, stripped off along with toboggans, coats and mis-matched socks. Abandoned forts made of blankets and sheets, broken crayons and notes that read, "Boys ONLY, NO guwls that are loud!" Only, they don't read that at all, cause it's all scribble scrabble, but Thunder and Lightning scream it to Her Highness if she tries to enter:
"Can't you read our sign!!!" Her Highness proudly fires back at them, "Umm, no, cause it doesn't say anything, it's just a bunch of squiggly lines!" The noisy banter continues...
"Well, it says NO GUWLS THAT ARE LOUD!" Her Highness snickers then says to me, making sure the boys can hear, "Momma, I think they mean no girls ALLOWED." "That's what WE SAID!" On and on it goes....

All out brawls over new toys, which movie to watch next, and who's the oldest have left their marks on arms, legs and cheeks (both sets). Hail's newest aggravation tactic is to announce, "I'm da ode-est! I'm da ode-est!" Which leaves all three older kids fussing with him about the true birthing order in our house. "Momma! Tell him he's NOT the oldest!" The child is two years old and already playing mind games. Normally when fights break out, I send the kids outside. But, for the last week I've had to determine which way to lose my sanity... Do I keep them in and listen to their crap, while they wrestle and knock more junk into our nasty floor, or do I take half an hour to bundle them up, only to have peace for three minutes? Hmmmm. That's a tough one.

Hopefully our bout with the crud mixed with cabin fever will all be over soon, and life will return to normal. Or, normal as the Hudson's know it. If not, I may take up drinking.