. . . got out of bed, dragged a comb across my head. Found my way downstairs and drank a cup, and looking up I noticed I was . . . still on vacation! Aaaaah aaah-aaah-aaah aaa-ahh aaaaa-aaaaaaaaaaah!
Won’t stay on here long because it’s Friday, aka my day. But cute story for Dez and the other grandchildren I might get to know after all.
Sound asleep at 2:35 this morning, I hear a slight knock on my bedroom door followed quickly by a cloaked figure entering my room. “Mom?” the hulking figure says.
“Everything OK, buddy?” I roll over.
“There’s something wrong with me,” he says shakily and the light clicks on and I see Demon Spawn wrapped in blankets and, over his shoulder, his frightened, saucer-eyed little brother staring at me.
DS had (well, has) a fever and the chills and he couldn’t stop shaking and he’d never felt that way before and it scared him. I assured him we’ve all been there, got him settled on the couch, brought him some flu meds and a Motrin PM and kept my bedroom door open so he could call if he needed anything.
Of course concerned, I still smiled to myself that first — at age 22– he hadn’t experienced the flu like this before and second I’d kept my children healthy enough that he hadn’t experienced the flu like this before and third how absolutely beautiful, devoted and sweet my boys are.
There are moments, pictures in my mind that I remind myself to never, never forget, and the wide eyes and frightened faces of two nearly 6-foot little boys — one who didn’t feel well and the other fearful for the one who didn’t feel well — seeking comfort from their mom will rank high among them.
At Least They're Committed 
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