Monday, March 14, 2011


Baby A has "a lion-bug-mouse-bug" in her throat. "It growls, then it squeaks. Growl. Squeak. Growl." Also, "I can't breathe very well, Mama."

She's breathing very rapidly. She sounds bad enough to make Big A take a listen.

And it completely panics me when Big A (he of the "Let them take a Tylenol" advice when I take the kids' pains and complaints to him) thinks he should take her to the E.R.

I take Li'l A to school, and set off for work, get all the way to the highway and drive the 15 minutes back to hug her again. And she tries to make me feel happy by gasping out "If you're happy and you know it, do like this [lifting my hair up in the air]."

So I think about that in the car and cry some more on the way to work. And then on the radio, Japan. Libya. Cry some more.

Get to the office, check e-mail read the wonderful, loving comments on my women's studies students' eval forms. Cry even more.

It's 10:00 a.m. I'm exhausted.


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