Thank you for your good wishes. I am up and taking nourishment again - a little clear soup, some soda water, a couple of Saltines. The first thing I did after I decided that I might live was begin loads of laundry (Steve has been terrific. A paragon. A true pal and a loving helpmeet but even he has only got two hands and thus by Thursday the children had been reduced to wearing papertowels. Besides, the first thing one wants upon rising from a nest of toweling is an actual bed. With clean sheets.)
So I suppose that seeing me on my hindlegs this morning trundling baskets of laundry lead Patrick to believe that I was open for business again and he asked me about... I cannot say it... about a specific breakfast option and I snapped, "Don't say it!"
And he said, "What?"
And I shuddered and said, "The... the 's' word. Don't say it again."
Patrick, surprised and a little offended said, "I didn't! I never! I just I wanted some s* s**. Have you seen any regular s* s** because all I can find is this swedish stuff with the weird green bits*** and the s**** that Dad made earlier which is all cold."
I flung the laundry basket over my head and fled.
Anyway, hello, and no one was more surprised than I to wake up this morning and learn that it was Saturday again. What the hell? Not only that but there is football on tonight and not only THAT but Steve and I are now sworn enemies because apparently living in a state for over fourteen years and having our children here and enjoying its four (very) distinct seasons and nice libraries and excellent schools and colorful accent is not enough to overcome a few years of high school spent in Milwaukee. So I am going to wrap myself up well in blankets and bring some gingerale down to the basement where I will sit as far away as possible from that traitor in the cheese hat and I... *I*... shall be rooting for the Vikings.
PS I mean that I will be rooting for them despite the utter hopelessness of it all.