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12.18.2006

(Ch)ill

Here's a bit of trivia: How many viewings of Parent Trap does it take for your head to explode? You thought it was five? Hahaha. Novice. It's actually eleven.

Savannah was just a little too agreeable yesterday. Which is always a sign she's getting sick.

We took her to see Charlotte's Web. Which, I should warn you, will send you into an existential tailspin when you realize that this was the very first book you read on your own, the first piece of literature to evoke strong emotions in your 8-year-old little heart. And now here you are with your daughter watching her face light up as she experiences Charlotte's magic.

And you'll realize you've grown up. And out of believing in magic.

And then her sweet upturned face will furrow it's brow and ask you "Mommy, why does Charlotte have to die?". And you'll wonder whether you're a grownup after all because you're actually crying over an animated spider and sputtering "Because it's her time".

Fortunately your husband will know what to do. And soon his popcorn will be yours.

Anyway, while most children become difficult and stubborn and cranky when they're ill, my child becomes the most adorable little girl: babbling on happily, requesting kisses, snuggling. That's when I knew to take her temperature. 101.3.

The thing about your child being sick is that it gives you permission to just BE. You have no expectations for the day, no hygenic requirements, and only stop flipping through Lucky magazine in bed long enough to remove your child from the crook of your arm and retrieve more Rice Krispies.

There's none of the usual pressure to make the day productive because hello I'm keeping a child alive here through my own sheer will, thank you very much. Now, can you get me the Grey's Anatomy DVD? Yes, again.

I'm trying not to focus too much on the fact that normally at this time on Mondays I have a mouth full of sesame bagel with onion garlic cream cheese and I'm watching The View.

And I'm definitely not going to think about the fact that we're listing our house in ONE WEEK and my bathroom looks like this:

My Un-Dream Bathroom

Or that I have great plans to turn this:

This is my life. Pretty much.

Into this:

My Dream Playroom

In one week. With today being the ONLY DAY I was going to have by myself. I'm not even thinking about it. Technically. But, I am crying about it.

Also, budget shmudget because my baby is sick and if she wants a $10 Starbucks snowman walking a dog then I'm getting it.

She immediately set to work on ripping the dog away.
"Now, let me see how I can deconstruct this into twenty pieces I can leave on the floor."
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