First, enormous respect for all those who have (or have had at some point) three year old kids.
Bloody hell. My cousin and her son came to spend the day yesterday. And he is my nephew. And a mighty adorable one at that. And an extremely peaceful kid too, since I was all prepared for him.
I gave him all the jenga blocks and all the dogs’ toys.
But when they left I felt like I had just survived hurricane Katrina or Andrew or both put together. My legs ached, I felt so wrung out that I skipped dance, ate two dinners and then wrote a blog on hospitals.
Whew, Mims if you’re reading this, then you should know that you are up there, right up there. Gallantry award goes to SB – sorry, now SS.
Second I had a feverish restless night. The kind you have on the eve of chicken pox or typhoid. So the only way to get through the day was with a heavy dose of MIA in my head.
Note for A: Even on my deathbed if you put on Bird Flu, I’m gonna get up and dance. Don't freak okay.
And, if anyone here doesn’t like my hands and feet, they can fug off.
The village got on the phone
Big on the underground,
What’s the point of knocking me down?
Everybody knows I’m already good on the ground.