Terry: Time to get up, #4. It’s 6.
Me: Time to get up, Sunshine (or Sparky, or Sweetcheeks, whatever comes to mind).
(throws the puppy onto the bed, he proceeds to bounce around like Tigger and lick #4’s face)
#4: I feel sick, I think I have a (insert first sick-like symptom that comes to mind)
Me: You don’t have a fever and you’re not throwing up. You’re going to school.
#4: Mo-oooohm…I’m Si-iiiick!
Me: Get up, Sunshine (etc).
Sounds of shuffling feet across the upstairs landing, door slamming, shower comes on.
#4, smelling of Irish Spring and in his bathrobe, shuffles downstairs and fixes himself a cup of coffee.
#4: I still feel sick. I’m hungry. I didn’t sleep well last night. It’s not fair (and other complaints)
Me: You have a bad case of First World Problems. Now go milk the cows, plow the last half acre you didn’t finish last night, and if I am satisfied with the job you did, I will only beat you 5 minutes instead of the usual 10, and you’ll get an extra spoonful of unsalted grits for breakfast.