I spent three hours in a tiny little room in a meeting with a woman whose daughter was home from school (with her Dad) because she had swine flu. Swine Flu?!? Now, I'm not terribly alarmist. We've had our fair share (and someone else's fair share too) of illness at Maison Sarcastique. But I would like to catch a break here for a bit and just not get sick for a week, ok? OK?!? Do you hear me world??? So, please, let us not contract the swine flu right now.
Also, Dear Bobo, not sleeping is your brother's trick. Get your own thing. Something that doesn't invovle me being out of bed between 10 pm and 6 am. Explosive pooping would be fine, if a little laundry intensive.
Last night, as I was tucking Chuckles in to bed and giving him a little kiss, he said, "I love you." Swoon. Swoon, I say. Then he added, "And Megan." Megan? My baby has his first little crush. When he and Megan were 2.5they played Homeliving (which is like "house" for the 21st century) and had five babies who all went poopie at the same time and they ran out of diapers and had to go to the store for diapers for their five babies who were poopie. So, there is history with Megan. She'd make a fine daughter-in-law. But, next year when Big School starts, they're in different schools.
Which reminds me....when I was 3 and 4, I went to co-op preschool at a local church. There was one little boy there, Matthew Springer (don't tell me if you look him up on Facebook, I prefer ignorance), with whom I used to hold hands while running across the field to the playground. One year, he (his mom?) sent me a Christmas card in the mail. In the mail. I got mail through the slot in the door addressed to me. When preschool ended, and we went off to kindergarten, he went to a different school (probably even a different district since we didn't reconnect in Middle School). When the neighborhood turned, everyone moved away anyway.
So, I went to Middle School, moved between 7th and 8th grades to a neighborhood known for impeccable schools, and went to fabulous High School. Now, I was just a girl from the South Side going to a fancy high school in a nice neighborhood. The clothes, the cars, the money, the no after-school jobs. I did not fit in. When it came time for college, I was glad to be done with HS. I just didn't fit in, but Fancy HS had opened my eyes up to a larger world with college and the things that education could do for me. So, I opted not to go to State Univerity which was known as the 8-year HS plan since literally hundreds of people from my graduating class would go there. Instead I opted for a small, private university (which stupidly, I did not realize would be a lot like HS with the clothes, cars, and cash).
I went off to university and fell in love, hard, with a guy from the South Side who was also paying his way through university. He had gone to one of the better Catholic HS and gotten into elite college as well (South Side kids make good, they call it). So, we were in love, and one day, we were sitting somewhere smoking (!) when a guy walked up and said, "Hi" to my love. So, my love, being the most mannerly and gentlemanly sort, stood up to shake the guy's hand and introduced him to me. "Carrie," he said, as that was my name back then as well, "I'd like you to meet Matt Springer. We went to St. Catholic's together." It was my Matthew. My Matthew. Mine, from 15 years earlier. But he was short, now. And not nearly as attractive as a 19-year old as he was as a 4-year old. He didn't remember me. At all. Not even when prompted. I asked whether he went to Co-op, which was a yes, and did he remember me? No, but it wasn't all bad; he did write for the alternative newspaper (at elite university, the "alternative" paper was the conservative/libertarian paper, the FoxNews of the undergraduate publishing set).
So, perhaps, Chuckles and Megan can reunite someday.