Thursday was Noah’s birthday. Four years old. Going on 40.
What a fabulous child.
I have a vivid childhood memory of being really cold. Inside the flat. To our requests that the heating be turned up, our stepfather would always reply, “Put on a sweater.” To which we invariably responded by putting on not only a sweater, but also snow pants, several scarves, at least one woolly hat, gloves and ski goggles (the same came in handy whenever asked to chop onions as well, so versatile!). Anyway, this is Noah telling me he’d like me to up the thermostat.
One week at home. One looooong week at home. Coughing, fevers, more coughing, higher fevers. I’m fine. But I’m the only one. The doctor actually made a house call last night, and immediately prescribed antibiotics. Not least because the fever has been going on for so long that the child has lost too much weight. His eyes are huge.
Bonus to being stuck at home for so long? He’ll let me pretty much do anything, as long as it breaks up the monotony.