Urgle burgle blech…

I have come down with the ague again. I am not well.

I spent last night—and by “last night,” I mean, “from 4 p.m. to 10 a.m.”—huddled under an electric blanket and a comforter sweating.

I asked Alex if I was radiating heat last night after he came to bed and he was all, “Yeah. It was gross.”

Which…ouch, but, I mean, he came home early from work and went in late to work to take care of the munchkins so I didn’t have to, so I guess I have to forgive him for making fun of my feverishly sad little self. Plus he brought me ice cream.

My oh-so-miserable existence is mitigated, however, by three things:

1. Last weekend was one of the most magical weekends that I have had in a really long time. I plan to write more about it later, but suffice it to say that it involved travel, margaritas, and a bunch of the coolest autism moms I have hung out with ever. Also, I publicly vomited, which is always a bonus. You have to promote your brand, you know, and when your brand is “I’m Stimey! I’m ridiculous!” a little throwing up on the curb at the airport goes a long way to cementing your image.

2. I have ice cream.

3. Jack’s teacher will often send me little emails throughout the day about Jack. Here is one I got about an hour ago under the subject line “happy Jack moment”:

Jack asked someone in class to make a paper airplane for him (it was mini-indoor recess) and then Jack said to the student, “Thank you. You are so creative.” 

I love so much that Jack has a teacher who gets that this is a big deal, enough so to email me about it. We are so lucky.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take to my couch until my kidlets come home and want to share my ice cream. I may have to resort to coughing on it so they can’t share.

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