Last Friday there were enough seasonal stresses around here to inspire a poem. Now things are the stuff of a first season sit-com; not funny and too full of gags.
Max on sofa with high fever, vomits carrot juice all over living room. Gus, the pretty little canary, dies. Max throws up again, in last clean corner of living room. Later that night, all the smoke alarms in the house go off for a full 15 minutes, as smoke from the fireplace seeps into the bedroom. Geoff shovels burning log in to laundry room trash can. Long awaited storm brings rain and mud. William rides his bicycle down wet, muddy, slippery pasture hill. Brakes fail, but fence stops him from landing in neighbor's storm ditch. Damages: 1 scraped knuckle, 1 chipped tooth and 1 dental bill. Max's fever has abated, but his mood is dark and foul. Alex is still coughing. Diego has been scratching the packages under the tree. And despite my dearest intentions, I have managed to gain 4 pounds, rather than lose. I must be retaining phlegm.
We only need a theme song.