Got the call from the nurse today (and note to other moms who might move or get new cell phones – the secretary doesn’t necessarily update the nurse’s records with new numbers) and my poor boy sick. Sick, sick, sick. He was fine this morning, a little quiet, and said he wasn’t that hungry. To be fair, now that I’m thinking of it, he did say he didn’t feel good. But he says that literally every morning, so I’ve just started to consider it his way of saying good morning.
Anyway – he’s home sick on my couch, pale as can be, with huge eyes and the sweetest little face. Why do they seem so much younger when they’re sick? We’ve been snuggling all afternoon. Sam’s an affectionate kid, all three of mine are. But as they get older, they’re less likely to crawl up onto my lap. So as much as I hate seeing him sick, I love that he wants nothing more than to lay down next to me.
In other news – Jessie is taking her first MCAS tests this week. She’s nervous about it – in large part because the school is making her that way. She’s terrified of being late on that day, and already geared up to freak out over the results. Jessie never met an emotion she didn’t like, and after clearly getting the message the MCAS are a big deal, she’s fully prepared to panic. I just keep reassuring her that she tests really well – because she DOES. According the last set of standardized tests, she was reading at an eighth grade level and doing math that was well beyond her grade. So I don’t worry too much about it, and try hard to keep her from worrying too much as well.
Julianna is STILL wearing the batman hat. Pretty much all the time. If she forgets, I don’t remind her, and today, she spent a good part of the day hatless. But they she discovered it on the floor in the bedroom, and is now traisping around the living room in a tank top, frilly skirt, and a red and black wooly skullcap. She’s becoming increasingly opinionated about her clothes. The warmer weather means that her wardrobe just doubled, because I pulled out all the summer stuff – and suddenly she’s got choices. Lots of choices. And God help me if I attempt to dress her in an outfit that doesn’t suit her standards. She’ll just sob, like her heart is broken. And it’s not worth breaking her heart over clothes, so I let her pick out her own stuff for the most part. So if you see me, wandering around with a batman hatted, mismatched little cherub, don’t judge me too harshly…
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