It’s hard being Gabe

GABE: “I wanna be wif Sammy, Mom.”
ME: “Sam’s at school.”
GABE: “Okay, I go school.”
ME: “Well, first you have to learn how to use the potty.”
GABE: “Noooooooooo! Why?!”
ME: “Because they don’t change diapers at school, Baby.”
GABE: “Nooooooooooooooo!” (Angst, angst.)

Going to be even more fun in the fall, when he still has to stay home. Poor little fall birthday boy.

In other news, erm, I think Sam may have had Fifth Disease, and I totally missed it. I noticed this morning that his neck has a lacy rash all over the back of it, and I commented about it to him. “Yeah, it itches,” was all he said. He was literally on his way out the door to the bus when I saw it, so I sent him on and sat down to Google. I traced it back a bit, remembered a few days ago when I commented to Eric that his face looked very red (“He must have gotten overheated outside,” we agreed) and that he’d been having headaches that we attributed to his recent habit of absentmindedly forgetting to wear his glasses. All symptoms, I now realize, of Fifth. At least he seems to be past the contagious part, the sites agree, so I don’t have to feel bad about him being at school today.