The other evening I asked the kids if they like it when it gets dark super early. “YES!” they replied, as if I’d proposed going for ice cream. I clarified the question. They changed their answer: “NOOOOO!” I then delivered the happy winter solstice news to them.

Sunday was hard. We’d planned a theater outing for Young J’s birthday, to see some Chinese acrobats, but he woke up with 102.5 fever. We had to cancel but the theater had no mercy, and wouldn’t refund the tickets, so now we’re left hanging to see if any seats free up for an upcoming performance, but given the time of year, it doesn’t look too good.

I was hormonally despondent about our plans and requested that J bring me a piece of leftover birthday cake to eat in bed. It worked. After I ate it and showered I saw the beauty of a day to spend inside, hunkered down with Young J’s birthday gifts

Young J has lost his voice, and he’s so pale and feverish I am horrified to think of having yelled at him for anything, ever. The ibuprofen has given him a bunch of nosebleeds. He isn’t good at being an invalid, and has to be coaxed to stay in bed. The laryngitis, though, is probably the most frustrating thing, for both of us. When you take a kid who, under normal, healthy circumstances is minimally responsive when you ask him a question, and you take away his voice, things get even more frustrating. Especially when you are walking down the street in the rain and asking him a question and waiting for an answer, and he has his hood up, obscuring his peripheral vision and any nod of his head.

How quickly the tables turned from being the one receiving care (I can’t say I was a much easier patient – I know for a fact I wasn’t!) to being the caregiver. I’ll be happy if things can stay this way for good.