We are all holed up in the Momontherocks Infirmary right now. Fret not. We're all on the mend. Well, the kids are. I'm apparently suffering from pay back germs they spread when they cough right in my face while I bring them a drink or a straw or medicine. You know, karma. I serve them and take care of them, and they, in return, lay me out with a cold of my very own. If this cough is a fraction of what Lucy had on Christmas night, I am so sorry, sweetie.
On Christmas night morning, Max woke me up at 1a.m., 3:30a.m., 5a.m. and then finally successful at 6a.m.with "Can we get up yet? I'm just so excited!" I was too kid. Really, I was. But now I'm tired. Not great. Note to self: don't build this Christmas morning gig up so much next year. Yeah, right.
Still, Lucy was so sick and tired, she didn't even want to get up to see what Santa brought her. So Max, in a fit of glorious celebration of the birth of Jesus, told her. Nice.
Eventually, she got up and we had a fantastic kid-spoiling Santa-revealing of 100% good kids in our home and then fun present opening time. I really think Lucy bucked up and faked it for us because she just wasn't feeling all that well. She wasn't her normal full of life Lucy. And really, if you're a full of life kind of kid, and it's Christmas morning, uh, that's a double positive. She was only single positive. Still, when she opened up her American Girl Doll from Ricardo and I, her eyes came alive.
That night, she went to bed. Then she creeped back out. And before I could yell at her to get back to bed and get some rest, she tagged me with a yellow-sticky note on my shirt and a quick kiss on my cheek. And then she ran to bed.
Well, crap. I guess I love her too. And you're welcome, sweet angel.
That's how I roll.
Song of the day: Upside Down by Jack Johnson
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