Have you ever heard the phrase: I know it like the back of my hand? I’ve always thought that was a kind of odd conglomeration of words. I mean, how often do we look at the back of our hands? I certainly don’t. I’ve looked a the back of my left hand a lot since my surgery, or perhaps at both when I’m washing them carefully.
But I don’t really pay the back of my hand much attention. As far as body parts go, it isn’t all that interesting.
The phrase also implies that we don’t know the front of our hands very well (or at least, not as well as the GPS mapped back of our hands). And that is just silly. Don’t we have palm readings with the front of our hands? Don’t we hold skittles in our hands, and therefore notice it more? Don’t we kiss our lovers palm tenderly to show affection? (You don’t? Oh dear…try it sometime. In fact, just thinking about it reminds me that I need to, ah, talk to Elaine about something tonight.)
There is one area though, in my life, where I don’t know as much about my palm as I do the back of my hand, and that is with my Palm Pilot (the Palm V to be exact).
You see, I obviously don’t know my Palm as well as the back of my hand, because I keep loosing my Palm. This is very disconcerting, because my Palm has become, well, my brain.
I barely have anyone’s phone number memorized because, well, it is my Palm Pilot.
My calendar is in my Palm, so I don’t have to remember when I have to do something. I’ve set things up so that when I have a meeting or something due, my Palm alarm goes off with enough warning so I can prepare
My Palm keeps track of birthdays, books I want to read, and some of my favorite recipes. When I want to rent a movie, I have a list of recommendations that I consult.
I keep my To-Do list on my Palm, and use it everyday. The categories are Today, Business, SCA, and Personal. I get a shot of happy endorphins whenever I complete something on my list.
And yet, for an electronic device that is so important, I misplace it far far to often.
Yesterday I spent a good hour looking for my Palm so I could write down I shopping list (without wasting paper). It wasn’t in any of my pants pockets. It wasn’t in the den or on the kitchen table or counters. I had it at the Talonvale event the day before. I checked my garb pouch; it wasn’t in there. I dumped out my work satchel several times. Nothing. I dumped out my pouch. Nothing.
I started to check odd places. I looked inside shoes. My armor bag. The refrigerator (yes, I found it there once). Under the cats. In the bathrooms. In the bed. Inside all the seat cushions of the sofa and love seat. I searched my car, under all the seats and sticking my hand in every crack.
Nothing.
I can hear my Mom asking, “Where is the last place you saw it?” That would be in the car going to the event. I checked the car again. Nothing. I checked the trunk. Nothing.
I was starting to get afraid that I left it at the campground, and right now some squirrel was being told it had a 10 AM meeting on Monday.
My Mom also liked to say, “Well, it didn’t just get up and walk away!” She stopped using that phrase when she made that remark after I said I couldn’t find our cat.
But in this case she was right, it probably didn’t walk away.
So I calmed down, and tried to meditate. I had it in the car with me because it had directions to the event site. I would not have brought it out with me at the event, because,
1. I didn’t need it at the event.
2. Keeping it in my pocket while people are swinging huge sticks at me is just asking for trouble.
3. I didn’t want to lose it in the woods.
So, I would have left it in the car. But I didn’t find it in the car. That means that I put it in a safe place that I wouldn’t forget, but obviously did. If I were to put it away now, where would I put it.
And there it was, in the glove compartment. It was laughing at me, wondering why I couldn’t find it so long.
I slapped it with the back of my hand. It just beeped at me and told me I had two abstracts to write by Wednesday.
Being clean is a wonderful feeling, one that is very easy to take for granted. That is, until you have to wear part of your body all wrapped up, with it unable to see the light of day or even the spray of water from a shower head.
But today, I am clean! Cast all the demons out: for the first time in over a week I was able to scrub my left wrist. And there was much rejoicing.
Earlier today I had an appointment with my wrist surgeon. He said that the healing is coming along quite nicely. He then nonchalantly pulled on my stitches and yanked them out before I knew what was happening.
Having a string being pulled through the inside of my wrist has to be one of the weirdest sensations I’ve ever felt.
With the bandage off, and the plastic wrist/thumb splint easily removable, I am now free to wash both my hands completely. And even better, I don’t have to wear a plastic garbage bag around my left arm while showering!
My next doctor’s appointment is a month from now. During that month, three times a day, I need to execute the Wound/Scar Management Home Program. These are exercises were I twist my wrist around in three degrees of freedom (roll, pitch, and yaw) for 15 minutes.
It gets very boring after the first three minutes. Fortunately, I can be reading or watching television at the same time.
Then, for another 15 minutes three times a day, I have to rub lotion into the scar.
By the way, the scar still looks pretty disgusting to me. However, I am incredibly pleased with the results.
During this month I should also wean myself off of the wrist split. I’ll definitely wear it at night for a few weeks, but during the day I’ll take it off quite a bit – for washing if nothing else!
After that month I should have full range of motion and mobility, and I’ll be able to do anything I want after that … like pick up my son anytime I want.
The knight was fighting for his life, and he knew he was going to die.
He had trained all his life for battle. No, not because this was to be his moment of glory. He trained because it was expected of him. His father served the King, and so he served the King. And he trained.
He won many tournaments, though not all of them. He survived many battles, though not without some final wounds. This time it was different. He knew he would not survive this one.
He beat the sword to one side and carefully thrust. His sword was pushed away by the enemy knight with an economy of movement.
The knight knew he was a good solid fighter. He was, in fact, very good, and strong. Stepping carefully aside to avoid a thrust to his gut, he knew deep in his soul that his opponent was a hair faster, a slight bit more skilled. Better.
With ever parry, his sword moved just a bit too far, and it took him that much longer to get it back in line. He would try to disengage, to reset the battle, but his opponent was always there, moving just as he would against someone else with less talent.
The enemy’s sword twanged off of his armor, far too close to the opening in his armpit. He moved fast and tried for an apparent opening, but the other knighted closed that hole.
The fight continued, and the knight didn’t want to die.
The battle raged around the two warriors. It always surprised him how it such chaos could surge around two people fighting, yet still leave them alone in the eye of their storm. Perhaps the others knew that these two were good, and it was their fight. Or rather it was that others did try to interfere, but were quickly dispatched and not remembered by either. Other soldiers were possibly fatal distractions. They had no bearing on either knight.
Strike and guard. The knight still couldn’t break through the other’s defenses.
He started to despair. He would never again feel the touch of his wife. He would never hold his daughter on his knee, or watch son practice with his play sword. He wished he were back at home now, for one moment, just one last time.
The sudden sharp pain in his leg brought him back to the present. He stepped back and nicked his opponent’s arm. He got too little, he lost too much, and he was far too slow.
He tried every trick he knew. Everything he had ever learned in training and on the battlefield.
Nothing worked. His arm was tiring. His breath ragged. It felt like they were fighting for hours, but from experience he knew only a few minutes has passed.
And that experience helped him not at all.
The knight tried one last desperate maneuver. He attacked with everything he had. He held nothing back, forgoing most of his defense to just get through to try to get his adversary by surprise.
As his opponent’s sword pierced his chest, his last thought was not of his wife, nor of his children, nor of his King.
When he looked into his enemy’s eyes, his last thought was of jealousy, that this foreign knight would live, yet he would die.
His strength fled as the sword was pulled out of his chest. He fell forward onto the ground damp with his blood, and he fought no more.
DEAR SADDAM HUSSEIN,
URGENT AND CONFIDENTIAL BUSINESS PROPOSAL
I AM MARIAM HAMADOU, WIDOW OF THE LATE HAMA HAMADOU AFTER HE DEATH OF MY HUSBAND WHO DIED MYSTERIOUSLY AS A RESULT OF CARDIAC ARREST, I WAS INFORMED BY OUR LAWYER, BELLO GAMBARI THAT, MY HUSBAND WHO AT THAT TIME WAS THE PRIME MINISTER OF NIGER CALLED HIM AND CONDUCTED HIM ROUND HIS APARTMENT AND SHOWED HIM FOUR METAL BOXES CONTAINING KILOGRAMS OF PROCESSED URANIUM AND HE EQUALLY MADE HIM BELIEVE THAT THOSE BOXES ARE FOR ONWARD TRANSFER TO HIS OVERSEAS COUNTERPART FOR ANTI-AMERICAN ACTIVITIES.
ALONG THE LINE, MY HUSBAND DIED AND SINCE THEN THE U.S. GOVERNMENT HAS BEEN AFTER US, MOLESTING, POLICING AND FREEZING OUR TRADE OPPORTUNITIES AND EVEN MY ELDEST SON RIGHT NOW IS IN DETENTION. MY FAMILY HAS HIDDEN OVER ONE HUNDRED KILOGRAMS OF ENRICHED URANIUM FOR SALE. A SMART DICTATOR SUCH AS YOURSELF KNOWS THAT A STANDARD 20-KILOTON NUCLEAR WARHEAD NEEDS ONLY EIGHT KILOGRAMS OF CRITICAL MASS URANIUM. THE CIA IS INTERROGATING HIM (MY SON MOHAMMED) ABOUT OUR ASSET AND SOME VITAL DOCUMENTS. IT WAS IN THE COURSE OF THESE, AFTER THE BURIAL RITE AND CUSTOMS, THAT OUR LAWYER SAW YOUR NAME IN USA TODAY AND FOUND YOUR ADDRESS FROM THE PUBLICATION OF THE NIGER BETTER BUSINESS BUREAU. THIS IS WHY I AM USING THIS OPPORTUNITY TO SOLICIT FOR YOUR CO-OPERATION AND ASSISTANCE TO HELP ME AS A VERY SINCERE RESPONSIBLE PERSON. I HAVE ALL THE TRUST IN YOU AND I KNOW THAT YOU WILL NOT SIT ON THIS NUCLEAR MATERIAL BUT WILL USE IT WISELY.
I HAVE SUCCEEDED IN CARRYING THE FOUR METAL BOXES OUT OF THE COUNTRY, WITH THE AID OF SOME TOP GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL, WHO STILL SHOW SYMPATHY TO MY FAMILY, TO A NEIGHBOURING COUNTRY (ACCRA-GHANA) TO BE PRECISE. I PRAY YOU WOULD HELP US IN GETTING MATERIAL TRANSFERRED OVER TO YOUR COUNTRY. EACH OF THESE METAL BOXES CONTAINS OVER 25 KILOGRAMS OF ENRICHED URANIUM AND TOGETHER THESE FOUR BOXES CONTAIN OVER 100 KILOGRAMS OF ENRICHED URANIUM. THIS IS ACTUALLY WHAT WE HAVE MOVED TO GHANA.
THEREFORE, I NEED AN URGENT HELP FROM YOU AS A MAN OF GOD TO HELP GET THIS MATERIAL IN ACCRA GHANA TO YOUR COUNTRY. THIS MATERIAL, AFTER GETTING TO YOUR COUNTRY, WOULD BE PURCHASED AT A PRICE AGREED BY BOTH OF US.PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS MATTER IS STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL AS THE GOVERNMENT WHICH MY LATE HUSBAND WAS PART OF IS STILL UNDER SURVAILLANCE TO PROBE US.
YOU CAN CONTACT ME THROUGH MY FAMILY LAWYER AS INDICATED ABOVE AND ALSO TO LIAISE WITH HIM TOWARDS THE EFFECTIVE COMPLETION OF THIS TRANSACTION ON TEL/FAX N0: 234-1-5550449 AS HE HAS THE MANDATE OF THE FAMILY TO HANDLE THIS TRANSACTION.
THANKS AND BEST REGARD
MRS. MARIAM HAMADOU
Hello. My name is Charles, and I have a problem. I truly love the movie musical Grease.
I bring this up because the Top of the Park here in Ann Arbor is showing that wonderful musical tonight, and I’m going and I’m trying to drag all my friends.
I think I have an idea why I love the movie so much. First, I love musicals. Not all of them, but many. Mostly the musicals of Steven Sondheim and other good ones like Les Miserables, but I do hate those insipid musicals like South Pacific.
So I like hearing songs. I like hearing music that moves that plot along, and Grease does that very well. “Summer Loving,” “Beauty School Drop Out,” and “Worse Things I Could Do” achieve that goal, as do others.
I’ve never been a big fan of the 50’s and 60’s. Sure, as a young teen I watch Happy Days and liked the Fonz as much as any other brain dead child, but I don’t long for those times.
I guess it is just that I like songs, and I like romantic movies, and I most especially like three dimensional characters, and surprisingly, while the characters in Greese look like stereotypes, they aren’t. The movie fits a whole year in less than two hours, and through it the characters change and some of them grow.
And lets face it, even as a young teen I was hopelessly devoted to Olivia Newton John . I still play some of her CDs, and I think she is just adorable throughout most of this movie.
The best part of watching Grease at The Top of the Park is when she is singing “Hopelessly Devoted to You.” Apparently, all the men who go there know all the words sing along, and I find that highly amusing and entertaining.
This year, I think I’ll sing along.
The surgery seems to be a success. My wrist doesn’t hurt, and the after surgery pain didn’t amount to much. I won’t really know for a few weeks, but I’m highly optimistic.
I got up at 7 AM and took a luxurious shower. I gave special attention to my left wrist and palm because, well, I’ve been wearing a wrist brace for so long that it started to, well…the smell reminded me of Gary, Indiana. I even didn’t wear it the night before just so everything could air out. The stench was mostly gone (at least, no one said anything).
The only problem with not wearing the brace is that since I move around so much, my wrist was pushed into wonderful contortions causing me to wake up in pain several times that night. Not fun.
Elizabeth picked me up at 7:30 AM and got me to the outpatient hospital on time. With glee I showed her the letter I got from the doctor stating that she had to “help me disrobe and dress.” She wasn’t thrilled with the idea of dressing or undressing me, and I can’t understand that. I did shower!
We had a fine conversation for the hour that we waited, and then they had me prep for surgery. I figured I’d spare Elizabeth the joy of undressing me and do it myself. They gave me one of those wonderful gowns that you tie in the back, and told me not to tie it. I was allowed to leave my underwear and socks on. Hand me a beer and put me in front of the television and I would have been ready for Father’s day.
Elizabeth joined me while a gaggle of doctors, nurses, and anesthesiologists came in, introduced themselves to me, and told me exactly what was going to happen to me. Seventeen times.
I found it quite amusing, and was reassured that they all pretty much said the same thing. The main nurse put the IV in me, and she was lots of fun to talk to. The assistant doctor shaved my wrist/arm, which was an odd experience.
Then the surgeon came in. I knew he was going to do this, but that didn’t make me any happier when he tapped hard on my wrist to make sure I really did have deQuervain’s Tenosyvnovitis. I yelled out in pain and my shoulders and legs lifted off the ground at the same time. “Yup, that is the correct wrist!” he exclaims happily. I couldn’t help it…I laughed and couldn’t stop. I was tense and I guess nervous about the surgery, and the whole situation just hit a great chord with me. And it helped to ease the pain.
They started giving me the drugs and I got nice and happy and they wheeled me in.
I woke up in the middle of surgery, which is exactly what is supposed to happen. If you are awake during most of it, they say, the recovery is much faster.
While I was out they stabbed me full of local anesthesia, so I never felt that happen. When I woke up I didn’t feel my arm at all, and I wasn’t wide awake. I was sort of floaty and happy. Full of sedation goodness in the land of happiness while several people stabbed and cut me.
I remember talking, and then I don’t remember much until I woke up in the post operative area.
Apparently, I had started to tell jokes. You know, those two liners that DeForest loves so much. Well, they didn’t find it funny, and so they decided to up the sedation and put me back to sleep so that I’d shut up.
No, I’m not kidding.
When I told this to my wife and friends, they all mentioned that they wish they had that ability with me all the time.
Hmph.
The most pain I felt that day was when they ripped off all the tape off of my right arm. I hate that part.
It was then time to get dressed, and I really was dizzy enough that I needed Elizabeth’s help. She was a trouper and did a fine job. I was nice, though, and wore my button fly boxers. Be prepared, right?
I don’t have a cast on. My wrist has a lot of wrapping on in, and I think there are splint like things in there but I’m not checking. So my wrist is flexible and I can move my fingers, and even type a bit, though I avoided that until today.
We stopped off at Meijer for my Tylenol 3 (with Codeine) and we spent the afternoon watching Buffy and playing two player Cattan. It was great that Elizabeth kept me company until I felt well enough on my own. Thank you, Elizabeth.
The wrist did hurt Friday and Saturday, but every day it feels better. On Wednesday I go back and they look at it. I am not allowed to lift much of anything (like a baby, or even a large cup of water) with my left wrist until then. They say it could take 6-8 weeks to recover! I hope it doesn’t take that long!
Thursday I head out to D.C. and get back Friday. Traveling with this wrapping and not being able to lift is going to be a whole lot of funness. Next week I go to Rome, NY for a day trip. I can’t even cut food with my left hand right now. Traveling should be an adventure.
Still, the pain seems to be gone and there was no nerve damage, so all in all, I’m a very happy person!
I can’t wait. I’m positively quivering with anticipation.
I’m getting my wrist surgery tomorrow for my deQuervain’s Tenosyvnovitis surgery.
The pain has been getting worse. And not just from me doing stupid things with my wrist like driving, holding a fork, petting my cat. At times now I wake up from the pain. At least I don’t have to feed it like Elaine has to when Marcus wakes her up.
I rarely move my left thumb more than a centimeter anymore. It is an odd way to hold one’s hand. Yet I can still lift things just fine, or even hold a shield. Putting on armor...that hurts.
So tomorrow I have surgery. I have to be there at 8:15 AM, and I probably get the procedure at 9:30, with me about by 12:30 PM. My friend Elizabeth is going to help me out, and will get to see me in a nice drugged and suggestible state. Our friends are telling her that right after surgery would be a perfect time for me to take her shopping at the mall with my credit cards.
This weekend I’ll pretty much take it easy. In fact, on Friday after surgery, all I am supposed to do is relax and sleep. Wow, a vacation!!
The really bad part is that I won’t be able to lift my son for a while, probably a week. Sure, I could hold him with one arm, but my concern is that if I loose my balance I’ll grab him with the other hand, destroying the surgery, or worse, not being able to hold him.
Not a good risk.
I considered titling this entry as “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.” However, two of the performances I’m reviewing are quite positive, and the negative one, if I were to label it “The Ugly,” would be a disservice to ugly people everywhere.
I think I’ll go in order of best to worst, which is also the order of viewing.
On Saturday Elaine and I went to the Arb to see Shakespeare’s “Much Ado About Nothing,” put on by the University of Michigan’s Residental College. It was in the U of M’s arboretum, and I have to say it was utterly delightful.
The show started in the middle of the Arb. You brought your own chairs or blankets to sit on, and watched the show. Then you would get up and be lead to another location to see some more scenes. One scene would be in a flat empty field, and then you would be instructed to turn around and see another scene with trees used as scenery and as part of the plot (features for characters to hide behind).
The acting was nice, and in some cases extraordinary. For the first time I really liked the constable character – he was a riot and I enjoyed seeing him every time.
It is playing for the next few weeks, with extra unadvertised shows on Sunday, so if you get the chance, go see it!
The next thing I saw was on Sunday. TNT showed Blast From The Past. Yes, that movie with Brendan Fraser and Alicial Silverstone. And guess what? I really liked it.
Please don’t shoot me.
It was two movies – surviving in a fall out shelter for 30+ years, and then Fraser’s character interacting in the modern world. What I liked most was that they played the premise straight. Fraser’s character was naïve, sure, but he was not at all stupid, and he learned quickly. Every character was believable and, well, real, and I found myself liking the movie.
There was one part that surprised me so much that I laughed out loud with enjoyment. Adam (Fraser) meetings Eve’s (Silverstone) ex boyfriend who is, quite frankly, a jerk. At the club he basically wants to beat up Adam, but Adam has been practicing boxing for 30 years with his Dad, and knows how to fight. So every time her boyfriend would say “Okay, we won’t fight” and then pull back, Adam would punch him in the nose in a very realistic manner.
Fine. You have to see it, but trust me, the actors pulled off that scene in a wonderful manner.
The third theatrical event was on our Tuesday Buffy night where we saw, I kid you not, Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter. Yes, the Christian Savior kicks some Vampire butt, and it has vampires that can survive daylight, lesbians, odd punk priests, and the obligatory mad scientist. Oh, and Mary Magnum.
This movie was made in the year 2001, demonstrating that stupid movies are still being made in this millennium.
I cannot express in strong enough terms how bad this movie is. I can believe Eric inflicted this movie on us. Every time I saw a scene and said, “This is the worst thing I’ve seen in my life,” he would respond, “Just wait.”
It was fun to make fun of it, but my goodness, it was just too easy!
Now I know how Elaine felt when I made her go see “Dumb and Dumber” with me. I’m really sorry.
After watching a particularly sick episode of South Park (I know, that is redundant), I got to thinking about the Airline industry, and how to make travel both safe and the lines faster.
Since it seems that every weirdo in the world is expressing their ideas, I thought I’d add to the list!
One of the problems we have are the long lines for security checks, where you go through a metal detector and they search you. My friend Joe has a solution:
1. Have everyone go through the metal detector, and spend the entire flight, naked. No carry on baggage allowed.
Of course, anyone who knows martial arts or boxing won’t be allowed to fly, but aside from that (and the unfortunate side effect of seeing things we really don’t want to see while eating a Cinnabon), it is an intriguing idea.
Considering who I sometimes get to sit next too, this might not be a bad thing.
I don’t think the problem is carrying stuff on. I think the problem is people moving around on the flight. Think about it. If you can’t get up, you can’t hijack and airplane. Which leads to my idea.
2. Chain everyone to their seat, and not allow them to move through out the entire flight. Install a toilet in each seat so that people have no reason to leave their seat during the flight.
Okay, my idea has some drawbacks, but it does solve the security problem.
My friend Patrick has an enhancement on my idea. It is different enough that I’ll give it its own number.
3. The isolation booth. Each seat is a self contained eco system, with a toilet, television, and sound proof walls so you can’t even see the person next to you unless you love playing chicken with SARS.
Now, in such an environment, you probably can’t recline your seat, but who cares, those two inches didn’t mean much anyway. And this time you aren’t chained down. A little slot would provide your peanuts, giving you that prison like feeling the airline industry is already starting to develop.
Since service is going down hill, I like this next idea a lot.
4. Put everyone to sleep and stack them like luggage.
No muss, no fuss. Tubes can provide food and waste processing for long flights. No need for cheerful flight attendants. There would be no way a terrorist could even get up and move around, and the airlines can pack in over five times the amount of people per flight.
Unfortunately, I think this final idea will be the implemented solution.
5. Let the airlines go bankrupt and out of business. No more flying.
That solves all the problems. No airlines means no lines, security, and removes a large chunk of terrorist targets.
People won’t be able to get anywhere far away quickly for business or vacation, which will destroy many other industries, causing a very huge economic depression, and give people many more things to complain about.
And giving us something to complain about is why we all love the airline industry so much in the first place.
[If you have any ideas, I'd love to hear them!]
If you live in Ann Arbor, you've already seen my new hairdo. If you don't live
in Ann Arbor (hi Mom and Dad!), then this is your chance.
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Before
AfterHmm, that is a very odd set of pictures. I didn't lose weight between pictures,
just hair. They were taking the same day, at the same spot at work, right before
and after the hair cut. And you can't really tell that I got it styled in the
second picture. Ah well. I love the haircut! I liked it long, but I do like
it short too, and it definitely takes me less time in the morning to get ready.
I haven’t talked about Marcus Man in a while. It isn’t from lack of nothing happening. I think it is mainly the travel and everything else going on in my life.
The odd thing is, no matter how much goes on in my life, Elaine and Marcus are always a big part of it. And with Marcus, I interact with him everyday (when I’m home and not flying to some third world western European country).
I am finding that I love interacting with my son, especially when he is happy, smiling, gurgling, and only slightly spitting up. He sure is a wiggly little guy.
And even when he isn’t happy, I find I really don’t mind it. Last Sunday during gaming, while Elaine was trying desperately to sleep, I was holding him and trying to get him to not cry. I noticed while walking around in a figure eight in my living room and rocking him gently that, even though I’d rather be sitting down at the gaming session, it was actually quite pleasant to be holding my son.
My sad, crying, fussy baby boy, and I was okay with that.
But anyway, he has been okay, and we have been okay, and unfortunately the most interesting news is bad news, so not much gets written here.
So let’s talk about the good news.
He is very active. As I said, he is a wiggly little guy. He also is making sounds with his mouth. While I claim he is already talking (by saying “MAAAAAAAAAAA”), he probably isn’t. He does babble on, though, so I doubt he will be a shy and quiet fellow like his father.
Marcus also rolls over. And, for his new trick, he is able to pull his arms out from under him. He doesn’t quite crawl, but his break dancing is coming along nice, and he can change his orientation quite nicely.
At five and a half months I think he’s coming along quite well. He isn’t sitting up, but I can see that happening soon. Little Arbeau is teaching him how to eat food (rice for babies mixed with breast milk), and can do so from a spoon now. Pythagoras is helping him with his numbers.
The only bad news is that Marcus came home with a cold, and still has a wicked cough from it. He gave it to Elaine, who has been sick since then for a week and can’t get rid of it. He also gave it to me, and I got rid of it in two days. However, today I’m starting to feel it returning (with appropriately disgusting symptoms).
I really want us all healthy again. Having a child means you really don’t get any sick days.