Here's a funny story to get us going and then we'll see how much of this I can complete before naptime ends. Last night we went out for dinner--a rare treat at our favorite local restaurant. It's a bar by night, but at 6 p.m on a summer Sunday, perfectly suitable for families. So we're sitting there enjoying some pre-meal popcorn and coloring on the kids' menu/placemats when I look up and notice that someone sitting at the bar directly across from me has some extremely low-riding shorts. I alert John's attention to this display, subtly I think, and it's kind of a loud place with music and TVs and such. Yet, immediately, Ed turns around to see what I've just pointed out and says, loudly, "Who's tighty whitey?"

When, oh when will I learn to keep my mouth shut? Luckily, the person in question either did not hear or chose to ignore the observation. Once again, I note that it is a fairly loud atmosphere, but that does not stop our young parrot. Hear it, see it, say it.

Our dinner was sort of a celebration of the return to good health (which of course we chose to toast with french fries, but who's counting.) Daniel was sick ALL of last week and it was both sad and frustrating. Actually, he'd sort of been sick for the last three weeks, with two weeks of diarrhea leading up to spiking a fever on Monday that did not break until Wednesday night. (The two ended up being unconnected, except for the possibility that the two-week GI bug weakened him, allowing another virus to settle in.) We spent Thursday waiting out the daycare's 24-hour rule (fever-free for 24 hours before returning to school) and thought he was fine to go back Friday. When we got there, I noticed his arms were a little red. I lifted his shirt and he had a rash all over his torso. So of course we had to leave. In the medical mindset, the rash (roseola) was actually a good thing, because it helped explain the fever from earlier in the week. In the mom mindset, how do I cope with an 18-month old who feels like crap for a whole week and doesn't understand why I'm not doing something to make him feel better?

(continued from Monday...)

I think he'll forgive me, but he's still a little dubious as I have been returning to the bedtime-only rule for pacifiers. They were a Godsend last week when comfort at all costs was key. He'll still throw them back in bed when he gets up, but he's learned to say "paci?" with a pleading pitifulness that is hard to resist.

Edward's latest trick is the recitation of the fable, "Three Billy Goats Gruff." This is our latest book on CD from the library, and it's quite a dramatic reading, which he imitates with gusto, shouting, "Who's that tramping across my bridge?!" I wonder what they think at school when this bursts out of nowhere. I hope the teachers are at least familiar with the tale. I'm actually a little annoyed with his teacher, who is leaving the position in two weeks to move to another part of the state and seems already to have checked out. I get that mindset. I've been there. But I think when you're responsible for the daily nurturing of 12 three-year-olds, you owe it to them to be fully present until the very end. Of course, I can't say anything. I just keep watching her countdown in Facebook status updates and think I'll probably be as glad as she is when it reaches zero. It's too bad, because I thought well of her before and have not had a negative experience with any other teacher in three-plus years at this daycare.

So by now you're thinking, "Enough with the writing and make with the pictures already!" We actually don't have many right now as the camera took a back seat to the thermometer and ibuprofen. But here are a few at our afternoon park excursion before the aforementioned celebration dinner. (Note: I just spent 20 minutes trying to get this photo to display right and Blogger keeps rotating it back to vertical. Sorry--you'll have to turn your head or open and rotate in your own photo program.)