Tuesday Morning Fog, or A Cloud of Sick Complaining

A thick blanket of fog is sitting over our house. We’re all (except Matt) lined up on the couch breathing laboriously from our mouths, stuffy, eyes running, noses running, complaint filled and moaning.
A: Tell him not to talk to me!
R: Noooooooooooo.
A: I don’t want him to touch my knights.
R: Noooooooooooo.
A: Tell her not to come here!
Me: If you can’t be down here nicely and share your knights, then you need to play alone in your room.
A: It makes me sad when you say things like that.
Me: I’m sorry, but you need to be kind to your brother and share with him.
A: It makes me feel like you don’t like me when you say that.
Me: You’re welcome to come over and sit with me, but you have to be kind to your bother.
A: He might touch me if I sit over there.
R: Nooooooooooooooo.
A: I really love her (G) but I don’t want her to touch me.
e: Please come sit with me and stop whining.

Its going to be a long day.