Booty Shakes & Blisters

This week’s been brought to you by the letter H- Hand, Foot, and Hell. The kids are crusty, cranky, and contagious, and I’m operating on whatever’s below empty.

I woke up today weirdly energized. No idea how. We have all been so sick. They have had hand foot and mouth disease. I was fighting off something, and we all feel like shit. I must’ve accidentally unlocked a cheat code in my sleep. I walked in, all- “yoga auntie” with a vengeance. Come at me, tantrums! And she does. Full swing to Bubby’s body. BAM! No TV. No discussion. Just consequences, baby.

“You don’t like it? Don’t deck your brother. Go play with literally anything else. You’ve got toys, crafts, a sock drawer. Get weird.” She does not get weird. She gets pissed. I hold the line. We blast the booty-shaking playlist and rage-dance the feelings out. No one can stay mad when “Cha Cha Slide” hits.

Sis is clearly on the mend. I crank up the jams and we try to liven up the place a little. She’s booty shaking while he’s yelling for uppies. I dance with him as long as I can. But dancing with a virus? Not sustainable. Bubs refuses to touch the hardwood like it’s lava.

So when shower time came… he was not happy until I handed him the hose. Then he sprayed his little feet, grinned and sighed “Mmmm.” It was healing. It was perfect. Spa day meets water park for sick toddlers. He’s cured, I’m cooked, and the floor’s one wrong step away from OSHA intervention.