She should be selling used cars

I had to wake up bright and early this morning on account of the horrible thing that we people in the teaching business call morning duty. I find it very fitting that the word duty sounds like doodie, because, well, morning duty stinks a lot like real doodie.

Since I had to be at work early for stink duty I was trying to hurry the girls along. That was rather difficult to do with Brookie bent over the toilet heaving. She had been sick since last Friday, but she seemed better on Sunday. I was worried and thought I should stay home with her, but Dave said that it was just sinus drainage and that she needed to go. So I brought her crackers and sprite and her clothes and she got dressed in the bathroom.

When we got to school I went to the gym for morning duty and Brookie went to my classroom to spend some quality time with my trash can...lots of quality time. The two should be quite close now because when duty was over she was still bent over it. And when my first group ended she was still bent over it. I probably need to get them BFF necklaces because when my second, third and fourth groups were over she was still bent over it. I decided enough was enough. She needed to go home.

So I called her dad and he said that was nonsense. That I didn't need to miss work. She'd be fine. I explained that she was feeling terrible and heaving so much her tummy was hurting. He said she seemed fine yesterday when she was playing with her cousins (who were visiting from out of state) and to tell her to suck it up and go to class.

He can be a tough dad. I tried to talk to her about trying going to class, but it's rather hard to talk to someone with their head in a can. So I made an executive decision, took the day off and brought her home. Afterall I am the mom and am the one equipped with motherly insticts. She was obviously sick and the man had no idea what he was talking about.

Once I informed all the teachers that I was leaving so they wouldn't send students to my room I took Brooklyn home and put her to bed. I was a little nervous about making my own decision when her father had suggested something else, but I kept reminding myself that I knew better than he what was best for her.

I checked on her often and clearly the child was on her death bed.

The first time I peeked in on her she was in a pair of my heels. Clearly she was very sick. Everyone knows that dressing up makes you feel better. The poor dear was taking it upon herself to force herself to get better.

And apparently Madame was feeling poorly too because she dressed her up as well.

She even tried that age old method of 'feeding her cold'. Oh yes, she was a very sick girl.

And finally I found her in some kind of ritual with her Barbie. They used a fiber optic light to take the place of fire. I'm guessing she was praying to God for forgiveness for exaggerating her illness and making a fool of her gullible, soft hearted mama.

I really hate it when he's right.