Nicole feels

I think I am allergic to my family. More specifically, the branch that includes Janie and her brood.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

Friday began at 5:30 AM. I was making a lunch for Rob to tote to work when I heard the pitter patter of newly-8-year-old feet.

"Parker, what are you doing up?"

"So Daddy can make me an omelet."

We have a birthday tradition that the birthday boy or girl gets to choose the meals for the day, with dinner an out-to-eat event at the restaurant of his or her choice. When I asked Parker on Thursday what he wanted for breakfast, he asked for a cheese omelet.

"You know Mommy will have to make if for you, right?" I asked him. Though Rob and I are about on an even keel when it comes to omelet making, the kids have come to the conclusion that Daddy is the omelet connoisseur. Perhaps it is because it is one of the few things he cooks - not because he can't cook, but he does work 10-12 hours a day, so I generally handle the food prep.

Whatever the case may be, Daddy is the premier omelet chef in our abode.

"Well, Parker, you can get up at 5:30 in the morning," Rob joked that night.

Hmmm. Guess what?

It was absolutely adorable, truly. To see that little cutie trudge out, rubbing his eyes, asking for his cheese omelet when he could barely see, let alone actually be hungry, really made Rob's day.

We sent him back to bed with the promise that Daddy would make him an omelet on a Saturday soon, and he settled for one made by mom at a more respectable hour.

His lunch choice was pizza, which I baked around noon. I'd decided to make some brownies to take with us down to Janie's. I turned the oven on and whipped up the batter. For some reason, I happened to glance over at the oven before spreading the mix into the pan.

It still said 100�.

We assume it's less than two years old, since the folks who lived here before us were only here that long, during which time they totally remodeled the kitchen. What that also means is that since we didn't buy it, we don't have any warranty info.

Grrrr.

I improvised, and managed to bake the brownies in two batches in the toaster oven before we headed out the door. We'd decided to grab dinner on the way - Parker's choice, of course. Only the little stinker couldn't choose.

We were already running late, so I'd decided I could wait till we got to the restaurant to use the potty. Only I didn't expect it would be 45 minutes before the birthday boy saw a sign for a restaurant he wanted!

Once the birthday dinner was finally complete, we stopped at my best friend, Tammy's, so that she could follow us down to Janie's (we lured her to our "party" with the promise of chocolate martinis on Friday and a lemon pie for her birthday on Saturday). Once there, and after allowing the kids some hang-out time, we toted the critters off to bed and pulled out the cards and poker chips for an evening of Texas Hold'em.

Steve had gotten all fancy-shmancy and bought martini glasses, however he failed to buy a shaker. We improvised with tupperware.

No, that is not redneck at all. It's called versatility!

They weren't too bad. Not quite sweet enough for me, but still good. They seemed to increase the overall giggle and chatter factor a bit through the evening, but no one got overly silly.

Tammy didn't fail to disappoint by providing one of her famous sloppy word sandwiches. Janie was making a second batch when Tammy piped in, "Don't forget the Hershey's cervix!"

Once the tourny was over, which Rob won (I swear it is by God's grace to all of us, since he has been known to pout), we sat around and talked and talked into the wee hours of the morning. Which would have been fine if three boys hadn't decided that it would be a good idea to fight over video games three hours later in a very echo-y house.

I think the snoring rabbit also kept Tammy awake. Yes, you read that right. It would seem that Janie's rabbit has sleep apnea.

Maybe we should have given him some of the chocolate martinis.

The parentage drove down on Saturday so we could sing to Parker and Tammy and have a German-themed lunch. What ever possessed us to have German food the day after an Irish holiday, I have no idea, but save the stinky saurkraut my mother insisted on bringing (served her right that she spilled it down herself on the way, precipitating everyone giving her a fairly wide berth), the food rocked.

We came home that evening. I started to notice that my tummy was feeling a bit shaky, but I ignored it.

Two of Janie's seven had gone down with a horrendous stomach flu the first part of the week. We all thought we were in the clear since there'd been no further outbreaks since Tuesday.

But alas, this is where I have come to the conclusion that I am allergic to them: just as I came home with the achy-coughing-feverish flu the last time we all got together, this time around, I was able to enjoy a bout of stomach gymnastics on Sunday. Parker had the pleasure of said tummy tumbling yesterday. At first I thought perhaps we'd caught something else, somewhere else, as mine was not as violent as Janie had described, but it hit Parker in the same way it'd hit her family members.

Rob's still home this AM, hoping that whatever this joyous virus is, the glass of rum and diet coke he drank last night killed it.

Blech. Time to write a Hamlet outline. I am not sure which is worse: the stomach flu or Shakespearean English.