Well, it was a good run of happy, sleep-having, hula-hooping, tra la freakin' la-ing. It was all good. Through drop offs, pick ups, tantrums, volunteering in my oldest's class with my rampaging youngest in tow, swimming lessons and the whole shebang - I was grooving.

My sister and I even went to see David Sedaris last night, and had coffee and dessert after. He is hilarious, and it was great to just have big girl time. I crawled into bed around midnight, ready for sleep, and generally at peace.

A mere fifteen minutes after my head hit the pillow, Ralph came to visit. My darling son stood coughing beside my bed, and as I steered him to the kitchen for some water and some cough medicine, he wrapped his arms around my waist and went "Uh-Blaaaaaaaargh" right into my middle. I sat down in the hall with my son in my lap, his whole body contracting like a cat with a hairball.

Saturated as I was in sticky foulness, I quickly stripped off my pjs, threw on a clean tshirt and helped my gagging son out of his own icky jammies. I wiped him down with a cool washcloth and got him into fresh jammies. Which he immediately threw up on.

"Mommy. Blargh. Mommy. Blargh." He took a break from the heaving for a moment to announce that he wasn't "having any fun."

I started a load of laundry and herded him out to the couch, where he slept fitfully next to a giant mixing bowl.

As I sat there bleary-eyed and watched him flop feverishly around, I found myself taking stock, and actually feeling blessed. Only one child sick (so far, hah!) and I'm rested enough that a few nights of zero sleep won't be debilitating. It's Friday.

I finally drifted off into a twilight state of my own around 5 am, only to be awakened by the hubs at 7. He announced "I have clients in this morning." He couldn't take our oldest to school for me, so I dragged my stanky self up, made breakfast, directed the dressing and the brushing and the packing. At the last minute I carried the Ralph-meister sound asleep to the car and strapped him in with his bowl on the seat next to him. He woke 0.0125 seconds into the drive, and began the hairball extraction routine in the backseat, which continued for the entire five minute drive to and from the school.

Poor kid. I even had to drag him to the store for medicine, but we're home for the rest of the day.

Being confined to home is a good thing, because get this:

My daughter's school is going to be having their annual ice cream social fundraiser in a few weeks and the flyer came home today. It reads something like "hang out with other families, eat ice cream, have fun, hula hoop contest, cake walk, bubblegum blowing contest, yadda yadda yadda..."

Did you catch that part in the middle? About the HULA HOOP CONTEST? My oldest put me on notice that I am not only expected to compete, but I'm expected to DOMINATE. And? She told all her friends and the teachers and everything, so I have to do it or she loses face.

Why, oh why couldn't it be an ice cream eating contest? I know my strengths, and let's just say hula hooping is not something I count.

I'm so in training. And I'm so wearing my tiara when I enter the contest.