So I Guess That Makes Me Piggy...

Since I got sick the other day (four days and counting, thank you very much), this house has turned into The Lord of the Flies.

I always hated that book.

As I have been laying here on Kleenex Mountain, which is located just around the bend from Laryngitis Lane, it has slowly dawned on Patrick that I am essentially helpless to do just about anything. At first, this annoyed him, since it made me boring, but increasingly he has realized that it also means that he can do almost whatever the hell he wants, and I cannot scold him (I can't talk), chase him down (I can't move quickly without coughing up a kidney) or basically do anything at all except flail helplessly on the couch with my voiceless mouth flapping like a beached cod.

This is a bad, bad understanding for a five year-old boy to have.

All hell has broken loose at our house.

I'm beginning to believe in demonic possession.

So far, he has:
- continually spun the round chair where his sick sister has flopped in circles
- yanked off blankets from people
- completely ignored any instructions
- harassed the dog beyond all reason
- completely and totally trashed his room in various temper fits
and, my personal favorite,
- mimicked us both in that high-pitched 'Mnne mmne blah blah' voice.

The last time he bothered Josie, I told him to go to his room, which at first he totally ignored, so I used the entirety of my voice for the day and yelled at him, which of course resulted in me doubled in half, hacking. His Majesty then proceeded to stamp up the stairs, and from the relative safety of the upstairs landing did the mimicking thing, followed by a tremendous slamming of the door. This behavior, my friends, is grounds for murder in any country. However, all he got was a spanking, when I got up to him.

Soon after, he came out all sweet and nice, only to be so nasty to Josie AGAIN that she actually told him she hated him, which never happens (I know this will be more frequent in the future, but they're little yet). I couldn't even scold her, because she was right! He complained and whined when he heard me coming, because he knew he was past Deep Shit and on to Endless Diarrhea, but I just told him that I didn't blame her one bit and that he was to go to BED RIGHT NOW. (It was 7:30, anyway). The boy had the sense to know that he was mere seconds from being stuffed in the oven, and went.

He has never been like this, at least not since he was two. I know he's bored, because we've all been in the house for days and days, since first he was sick and now we are. DH has been gone for several days (and returns tonight, thank heavens). I'm too sick to play with him, and I can't have anyone over to play with him, either. Plus, he still has a small cough, so I can't in good conscience send him anywhere. So, he's screwed. I appreciate that. But still, it make me uncomfortable to feel that we're all just *this close* to having a mob of healthy children chase us weakened little Piggies off the island.

SO, all you single moms, and spouses of deployed soldiers, I salute you. I don't know how you manage it all by yourselves when things like this happen, but I am hereby in awe of your superhuman coping abilities. Personally, if DH weren't about to walk through the door and save me (and, by extension, The Boy), I think I would move into the minivan. At least I could lock the door and get a nap!