A Six-Year-Old in a Stroller?

Rooster was home from school with a stomach bug today. Yes, again. This stupid virus has been in my house for two and a half weeks now, and I am less than thrilled that my daughter has had it more than once. Granted, she has a fickle stomach. However, I am at a loss as to how I can possibly disinfect my kidlets enough to make this all go away.

Yesterday, Rooster proved to me beyond a shadow of a doubt that her aim is horrible. Despite the bucket sitting right next to her, I had to clean up pretty much her whole half of the room after she got sick. Therefore, I had no desire to put her in my car today, even with a bucket on her lap. We live three-quarters of a mile from the school, which must therefore be walked if I wish to keep my car relatively clean. Rooster was surviving on Jell-o today (green, by request), and I really did not know if she was up to walking a mile and a half round trip on nothing more sustaining than colored sugar and artificial flavors. I gave her the option of sitting in our sole remaining stroller.

Up until a group of her friends outside of the school started teasing her for being a "baby," Rooster thought that was a grand idea. Truth be told, I was probably more upset than she was at the teasing. Yes, I know she should not, in theory, be in a stroller at the ripe old age of almost seven. But she is not old enough to leave home alone, and I had already ruled out driving to school for pickup time today. I am fighting off the onset of a vicious cold and a bit unsteady on my feet anyway, so I doubt I could have carried her home if she was unable to walk.

I can picture the scene decades from now: Rooster, sobbing over how her heartless mother ruined her life by "forcing" her to ride in a stroller while in the first grade. Never mind that she was the one to choose that option. Never mind that it would not be an issue if she had merely stayed home with a nasty cold or a fever. I would have simply driven if that was the case.

Sorry, Rooster. I'll just have to concede that I babied you. Heck, you can even print this out to show your future therapist that your mother had no desire to tempt fate and risk having to clean green Jell-o from the interior of her car. Now please feel better already, will you?