Sick

Jackson here. It's been a tough couple of days here at the ranch. Without going into the gory details, it's been a cornucopia of illnesses. (I'll bet you didn't think a three-year old knew a word like cornucopia. Without tooting my own horn too much, let's just say I'm advanced.)

Here's how the sicknesses have broken down:

Family Member	Diarrhea	Vomiting	Cold
Me	Yes	Yes	Yes
Donovan	Yes	Yes	Yes
Dad	Yes	Yes	No
Mom	No	No	Yes*

* possible bronchitis

(By the way, the Dictionary.com definition of diarrhea is: "Excessive and frequent evacuation of watery feces." Because I am my father's son, I find this quite humorous.)

As you can imagine, these various illnesses have created quite a mess in the house. I can hardly build my elaborate Thomas the Tank Engine tracks without having to wade through a sea of discarded tissues. And how am I supposed to watch my movies with all those wretching noises coming from upstairs? Lyla, Madison, and Grant are all sick, too.

For the record, Donovan was the first one to get it, so this is all his fault. Oh, hey Donovan, what are you doing here? Hey, give me that mouse. And that's MY keyboard...

Donovan here. I don't know what my older brother's been telling you, but the sickness thing wasn't my fault. I'm ten months old people. I can't be expected to withstand germs and viruses. I can barely hold my giant head upright, let alone ward off disease.

My thoughtful older brother goes outside completely naked on a regular basis, eats handfuls of dirt clods like they're Cheerios, and wipes his snotty nose on the arm of the couch and all this is my fault? Are you kidding me?