Despite the four computers in our house, old-school Atari, an abundance of books, toys, puzzles, games, and a Wii, my nine year old daughter still complains of being bored. Really? Because when I was a kid, all we had to play with was dirt.
“Mom, I’m boooooooored!”
“Well, why don’t you go watch a movie? We have all those Pixar DVD’s, or why don’t you watch High School Musical II?”
“High School Musical II? Mom, that is SO last summer.”
At my daughter’s softball game a few days ago, my son was playing with a six year old girl. He loves this girl. If she’s not at a game to watch her big sister, he will continually ask me where she is.
As a matter of fact, when she arrived at the ballfield, he ran to her with arms wide open, yelling her name, and for a second, I thought he was going to tackle her. You never know with this kid. It’s not unreasonable to think he would pounce on her chest like a puppy and start licking her face.
They were playing behind our row of chairs and at one point I turned around to see my boy jumping furiously.
When we got home I asked, “Why were you jumping so much tonight?”
And, I decided I’m going to sit him down to have a talk with his Dad because his reply was, “Because Grace told me to.”
I spent four hours in the emergency room on Sunday night (into the wee hours of Monday morning) for a migraine, and nausea that makes the seasickness they show on Deadliest Catch look like a day at the park.
And, all day yesterday I was curled up in the fetal position on my couch waiting for the agitation from the Compazine to wear off.
Well, not all day…half my time was spent in the bathroom going through roll after roll of toilet paper, and bottle after bottle of Lysol and anti-bacterial soap. Because what’s better after a migraine than, what my Dad refers to as, a case of the “thin-dirties”?
Last night I was feeling weak and in need of something other than Imodium AD. So when my son climbed up on the couch next to me I was excited about some snuggle time.
He knew I was sick. He would be there for me. He would provide the comfort I desperately needed. I pulled him close and asked, “Who’s your favorite?”
He looked up at me, gave me a big smile and said, “I’m my favorite!”
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