Deep Bowls. Deep Grooves.

That big bowl was filled to brim with egg drop soup when lunch began, and then Char consumed seven cups of it.

It reminded me of a song. Link: They Might Be Giants.

PS. When Char was 3 and 4 years old, TMBG were a huge part of the soundtrack of our lives. After watching the linked video tonight, Char begged to watch more. The TMBG songs had been long ago etched deeply into her school desk of memory. The music of the past came rushing back to her as she ran her fingers across those grooves.

We spent over 40 minutes singing along with songs from Here Come the 123s, Here Come the ABCs, and Here Come Science. We had a blast. 

Daphne thinks we should have a Caspar Babypants revival tomorrow night. 

I am really looking forward to it.

A Souper Idea

I've said it before. You can't predict which Charlotte you will get when school gets out. Will the girl who walks out of the building be Grumpy Charlotte, Happy Charlotte, Jealous Charlotte, Enthusiastic Charlotte, or Embarrassed Charlotte?

There are other Charlottes to be sure, but Lying-On-A-School-Bench-With-A-Coat-On-During-A-Warm-Day-Charlotte wasn't who Daphne expected to meet two weeks ago. One look at this girl was all Daphne needed. This was Sick Charlotte.

Charlotte fell asleep in the car on the way home, and she didn't really get up for the next 40 hours. I stayed home with her on Wednesday and Thursday. Daphne stayed home on Friday. Charlotte had to skip the neighborhood Easter Egg hunt on Saturday morning (we kept the shades pulled so she wouldn't see what she was missing), and we all missed the church service on Sunday.

Unlike past years, I do not have many pictures from Easter week to share. It was the Easter that wasn't.

As far as sick days go, Wednesday was an easy for me. Char slept all day on the couch. Our biggest challenge was monitoring her temperature and moving her every 3o minutes to a cooler spot on the couch. It is like flipping your pillow over and over on a hot summer night.

She was awake for all of Thursday, but the fever had created a drama queen. Every time I left the living room there would be a meltdown. I use the bathroom, and a cat would bite her hand. I walk to the kitchen, and the Internet signal would die. Take three steps down the basement stairs, and she would sneeze all over herself.

The only bright spot was when she asked to eat her chicken soup on the couch. I told her that would be a mess, but she insisted that she had a plan. She had her treat-cup. Instead of Cheerios, we could put soup in there.

I have to admit that she was right. She didn't spill a drop.

Her thumb might be up, but so is her temperature. That is a girl with a fever. I can see it in her eyes.