You can stop checking the date and time stamp on this; yes, I'm writing this on February 13th; no, you're not re-reading an entry. I know that my opening sentence is pretty much the same as like twenty other entries in the life of this blog. Yeah, I think it's getting old, too.
Most of our weekend went pretty much like this:
(This was my attempt to get Oliver's teeth-chattering, body-shaking chills under control. It is also going in my growing pile of "to save for graduation display" or "to set aside for wedding slideshow.")
Sweet boy. As usual, he's handling this all much better than I am. He had to be picked-up early from daycare on Friday; Michael had a more flexible schedule so came to the rescue of our febrile kid. I tried (and failed) to concentrate for the remainder of my work day, wanting so much just to be home and take care of my son. When he is sick and I am away, I just want to lay down and cry. And ask for a sippy of milk.
Yes, it's all getting old; and so am I. Don't be deceived by my sippy cup comment; I'll be another year older in about an hour. I will wake up and avoid all mirrors, for as a result of weeks like this, I am sure to find a head full of grey hair. Or snot.
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