Executive
"Baby, are you sure you're going to be alright?" Sam asked as she zipped up her suitcase. "I mean, I can always stay home and-"
"What? No! That's insane," Freddie said. "Sam, you deserve this girls weekend with Carly."
"But you've never been alone with the kids for an entire weekend," Sam pointed out.
"They're my own kids, I think I'll be fine," Freddie said, rolling his eyes. "It's not like I'm watching a pack of wild wolves or something."
"I know, but they're a lot to handle," Sam said. "Jason's got his robotics club tournament tomorrow, Ashton's got her Sunshine Scouts meeting, Emma has that soccer game and Tyler's got a play date with that weird kid who looks like chipmunk-"
"I've got it," Freddie said, picking up her suitcase. "I can handle all that. You just worry about relaxing, okay?
"But what if something happens and I'm not-"
"Nothing's going to happen," Freddie promised her.
"But what if-"
"Sam, as your husband, I'm making the executive decision for you to go to this spa resort with Carly and have the best weekend of your life," Freddie said firmly.
Sam gave him a small smile. "Since when do you get to make executive decisions around here?"
"Since you decided to refuse to have a good time without your children," Freddie said, placing a quick kiss on her lips. "Now come on, your plane leaves soon, and you need to meet Carly still."
"Well…okay," Sam nodded as her and Freddie started out of their bedroom downstairs. "But you call me if you can't handle them."
"I will, but that won't happen," Freddie assured her.
"And make sure that they all go to bed at decent hours," Sam said.
"Got it."
"And make sure they clean their plates at dinner. And don't forget to-"
"Believe it or not, Sam, I have had experience with these guys," Freddie said as they reached the living room, where the four Benson children were sitting, watching T.V. He grabbed the remote and turned the television off.
"Hey!" nine-year old Emma exclaimed.
"Come say goodbye to mom," Freddie said. "She's leaving her spa weekend."
"You guys make sure you behave, okay?" Sam said, kissing the top of Jason's head and giving the twins a hug. "Because if I find out you didn't, you'll be dealing with me, not daddy, kapeesh?"
"I'll miss you, mommy," five-year old Tyler said sweetly.
"Aw, I'll miss you too," Sam smiled, scooping him up in her arms.
"Alright, now get out of here," Freddie said, giving her one last long kiss. "Go on, have fun! We'll be perfectly fine right here, won't we guys?"
His four children were silent.
"Thanks for the support," he mumbled.
"Just don't destroy my kids," Sam sighed.
"Our kids," Freddie corrected.
"Maybe," Sam grinned, giving him another quick kiss.
"Ha, ha," Freddie said dryly.
"Alright, bye guys," Sam said, picking up her suitcase.
"Bye mom," the kids called after her as she went out the front door.
"So!" Freddie said, clapping his hands together. "The weekend is ours! What sort of adventures should we have, huh? What sort of ruckus should we stir up?"
"Ruckus?" Jason scoffed.
"Um, we-we sort of just want to watch T.V.," Ashton said.
"T.V.?" Freddie repeated. "So no crazy, wacky shenanigans? Come on, you guys, good old dad is in charge! This is the opportunity of a lifetime!"
"Can you take us skydiving?" Emma asked hopefully.
"Um, well…no," Freddie said slowly. "But hey, I happen to have a pretty trilling DVD about skydiving we could watch."
"We're good," Jason said quickly, turning the television back on.
"Fine," Freddie conceded. "Have your stupid T.V."
…
"Dinner is served," Freddie said, sliding a plate of spaghetti tacos onto the table. "See, I bet you thought only your Uncle Spencer could come up with these, but I happen to be quite the master chef when it comes to preparing amusing meals."
"It's just spaghetti in a taco shell," Emma pointed out as her, Ashton and Jason gathered around the table.
"No sass at the dinner table," Freddie said. "And where's Tyler?"
"In his room I think," Jason said. "Dad? Can I stay up late and watch MMA fights?"
"No, because I have to drive you to your robotics club tournament at six in the morning," Freddie said.
"You said you were going to be fun," Jason mumbled.
"I am fun! I'm the coolest dad there is!" Freddie defended. "How about…How about you stay up for two fights, and then you go to bed?"
"Okay," Jason agreed. "Thanks dad!"
"Daddy? Can I try on mommy's make-up?" Ashton asked. "You'd be really fun then!"
"Um…I'm gonna go get Tyler," Freddie said quickly. "You guys eat up."
Freddie hurried upstairs to his youngest son's room.
"Ty?" he said, opening the door. "Dinner time. Come on, I made spaghetti tacos, your favorite!"
He looked over at his son's racecar bed where he was laying.
"Daddy," the five-year old moaned. "I don't feel good."
"You don't?" Freddie frowned, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "What's wrong?"
"My tummy hurts," he mumbled.
Freddie felt his forehead. "Oh man, I think you have a fever too. Alright, let's get some medicine in you." He picked his son up, but then caught sight of his slightly green face, and quickly grabbed a bucket and handed it to him. "Here, just in case…"
He went back stairs to the kitchen and set Tyler down on the counter while he rummaged through the cabinet where they kept the medicine.
"Daddy? Why's Tyler green?" Emma asked.
"He's got a little stomach flu, sweetie," Freddie explained, pulling down a bottle of pink medication. "Alright, Tyler, hopefully after a spoonful of this, you'll be back to-"
Just then Tyler gave a mighty grunt and vomited all over the kitchen floor.
"Ew!" the other three kids exclaimed.
"That was what the bucket was for," Freddie said under his breath.
"Daddy?" Tyler said weakly. "I threw up."
"Yes, yes I can see that, thank you," Freddie said, trying not be too grossed out at the moment. "Okay, Jason, girls, go finish eating your dinner in the living room. Tyler, come here, I'll get you cleaned up…"
He picked his son up again, holding him at arms length to avoid getting any residue on himself. Sam always dealt with the kids when they were sick like this because to be perfectly honest, he was no good with vomit. He was already starting to feel sick himself just at the scent of it.
This is going to be a long weekend, Freddie thought to himself as he carried Tyler into the bathroom. Thank God it's just Tyler that's sick though…One puking kid I can handle.
…
"Jason?" Freddie yawned early the next morning, poking his head into the thirteen-year old boy's bedroom. He was completely exhausted from staying up all night with Tyler. "Jason, wake up. You have your robotics tournament to get to."
"Ugh," Jason moaned, stirring slightly in his bed. "Oh….Dad? Dad, I feel sick."
Oh no. No! Freddie thought desperately as he hurried over and placed his hand on Jason's forehead, realizing it was just as hot as Tyler's was last night.
"Am I dying? I think I am," Jason mumbled groggily.
"You're not dying," Freddie sighed. "You must've caught what Tyler had last night."
"Stupid Tyler," Jason groaned.
"Well, I guess you're going to miss your robotics tournament," Freddie said. "There's no way you can go now."
"But I want to go," Jason whined.
"Sorry, Jason, you're staying in bed," Freddie said. "I'll go get some medicine and soup for you."
Great, now that's two sick, Freddie thought miserably as he left Jason's room. That's half my kids!
Part of him was of course less than pleased about this because it meant he'd be run ragged taking care of his two sons on his own, but the other part of him was upset because this meant that his plans of spending some quality time with the four children were ruined. He had actually been looking forward to this weekend to finally try and show his kids that he could be more than just their dorky dad. Oh well…maybe he could at least spend a little time with the girls at some point.
But just as he passed the twins room door, he heard a loud moan from inside.
Somewhat reluctantly, he pushed open their door, seeing them both sitting in their beds, Ashton with her head stuck in her wastebasket and Emma clutching her stomach.
"Well isn't this typical," Freddie sighed.
…
"Daddy! My head hurts!" Emma moaned as Freddie brought in two trays of soups for his daughters.
"And I feel tired," Ashton yawned.
"You need rest then, Ash," Freddie said. "And Emma, I just gave you some medicine for your head. You're going to have to wait a few more hours until I give you more."
"But I want more now," Emma said.
"I know you do, sweetie, but you can't," Freddie sighed. "Just try and get some sleep like your sister, and maybe you'll feel better."
"I can't sleep, she snores," Emma told him.
"No I don't!" Ashton pouted. "Daddy! Tell her I don't!"
"You do!" Emma said.
"Hey! The more you guys fight, the sicker you're going to feel!" Freddie said firmly. "Now both of you get some sleep. I don't care if somebody's snoring or not!"
And with that Freddie left the room, still hearing the bickering as he closed the door.
"Oh man," Freddie sighed, massaging his temples. "They're the ones sick and I'm the one suffering."
"Dad?" he heard a weak voice from Jason's room.
Freddie let out another sigh before turning and heading into the room. "Yeah buddy?"
"Dad, I see the light," Jason said from his bed.
Freddie resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Jason," he said. "You have a stomach virus, not the measles. You're going to be fine after a few days of bed rest and medicine."
"Could-Could I have some juice?" Jason asked softly, ignoring his father's comment.
"Sure," Freddie said, about to leave the room.
"With a bendy straw?"
"Fine, I'll put a bendy straw in it," Freddie said.
He walked down the hall to Tyler's room and opened the door. "Hey," he said, poking his head in. "Do you want any-Tyler!"
"What?" Tyler asked, looking up from his toy racecars that he was racing around his room.
"Why aren't you in bed?"
"Because I'm bored," Tyler said.
"But you need to take it easy, especially since you were up half the night throwing up your stomach," Freddie said. He picked up the five-year old and placed him back in bed, tucking him in. "There. Now you stay there and relax. I'm going to get your brother some juice. Do you want any? Or would rather have some more soup or-"
Suddenly he spotted a wrapper underneath his son's pillow, and picked it up.
"A candy bar wrapper?" Freddie exclaimed. "Tyler!"
"I was hungry," Tyler said, slowly clutching his stomach.
"Candy is the worst thing for you to be eating right now," Freddie said. "Right now you need plain, bland foods that won't upset your stomach anymore. Now when did you eat this?"
"Five minutes ago," Tyler groaned. "Daddy? I think I'm going to-"
"Bucket!" Freddie said quickly, snatching up the bucket that was sitting on his nightstand and shoving it at his son. "In the bucket this time, please!"
….
"Mama's home!" Sam announced loudly, bursting through the front door, dropping her suitcase and holding out her arms. Then she frowned and looked over at her husband, who was slouched down on the couch. "Hey! Where's my stampede of children tackling me to the ground telling me how much they missed me?"
"Drugged and in their beds upstairs," Freddie mumbled.
"What?"
"You planned this, didn't you?" Freddie said, narrowing his eyes.
"Planned what?" Sam asked, walking over to him and sitting down next to him.
"You did something to make sure that they all got sick this weekend when I was in charge, didn't you?"
"They're sick?" Sam frowned. "What? Why didn't you call me?"
"Because I'm stubborn, okay?" Freddie snapped.
"Aw, I'm sorry baby," Sam said, giving him a quick kiss. "But how are they? What did they have?"
"Stomach viruses," Freddie mumbled. "Tyler got it first, and then he gave it to everyone else. And they're fine, just tired now; I think they got the puking part out of their systems last night. But do you realize how terrible our kids are when they're sick? The twins fight fifty times more than usual because they're stuck in the same room all day, Tyler seems to think that being sick is the perfect time to run around and stuff his face with candy, and Jason's probably upstairs right now writing his will."
"Didn't you do that the last time you were sick?" Sam pointed out.
"I had pneumonia!"
"You had a cold," Sam smirked.
"And that attitude's exactly the reason why I left my limited edition 1964 Trudgemaster model to Gibby and not you," Freddie said, getting to his feet.
"Where are you going?" Sam asked.
"Well, see, after dealing with four sick kids all weekend, it was sort of inevitable that I get sick too," Freddie said. "So I'm going to collapse into bed and try not pass out."
"Wait, you're sick now?" Sam frowned.
"Oh yeah," Freddie said. "So, baby, do you think you could bring me up some soup in a little bit? Oh, and can you get me the thick winter blanket? I have the chills."
Sam rolled her eyes as she watched her husband climb upstairs. "I should've never left that spa," she mumbled.
