A LampPost Flickering

Don't let Mr. Serious fool you. He's feeling fine. As fine as you can be with a broken arm. He says his arm doesn't hurt right now, and he using it to scroll around on some computer games as I type. Interesting tidbit: attached to his broken arm is his beloved sucking thumb. With the right cast, we may have stumbled upon a thumb-sucking intervention program. (Is that mean?) I do, really, feel bad that his arm has been broken for three days. But even the doctor was shocked at Seth's lack of pain...or his super-hero level of pain tolerance. Not sure which. He was laughing and smiling and teasing. I can't hang on to guilt too tightly.

3:36 a.m. I awoke to a feverish nine-year old tunneling under our comforter from the foot of the bed to the pillow end. He used to do this--as stealthily as possible--as a toddler. I knew something was up, and my Sherlock senses were affirmed when he proceeded to unstealthily leap out of my bed to puke. 6:04 a.m. Gabe finally appeared to sleeping peacefully, this time on the couch with a puke bowl at his side, and I shuffled back to bed. 6:05 until 9:08 a.m. Assylum-worthy dreams reeled through their crickety film projector behind my eyes, one after another. I would have rested better not falling asleep. 9:10 a.m. I prayed a blessing on Rob for leaving me with some coffee, just enough to give me the clarity to brew another pot. Function level: minimum. 9:20 until 11:00 a.m. I turned off the cartoons that kept the kids occupied while I slept in (don't judge!) and got everybody breakfasted and dressed and started with school. Gabe still felt sick, but he listened to a couple of books