I thought about calling in sick to the blog today, but it's Bud who's sick, not me.
He woke up this morning around 3:00 and came into my room. I'm not sure that he ever fully went back to sleep, though I dozed off and on until he convinced me to get up around 7:00 - at which point... well, I'll spare you the details. I'll just say that everything that was on the bed at the time ended up in the washing machine.
It was an interesting morning, as we focused on slow re-hydration, avoiding solid foods and postponing his morning medication.
By noon, he was re-hydrated, but, with no medication in his system, he was unable to slow himself down. At noon, he told me, "I need to walk." And he started walking at a fast clip around the house, up the stairs, down the stairs, through each room, throughout the house, walking, walking, walking, and scripting, scripting, scripting from a variety of Elmo's World segments all at the same time: Does a birthday cake draw? No, but you can draw on a birthday cake. Does a pineapple have a birthday? No, but you can eat pineapple at a birthday party. What sings and what doesn't? A birthday cake, a mailbox, or some children? What has hands and what doesn't? Does a lion have hands? What grows in the ground? A carrot, a mailbox, or...
This went on - and I am not exaggerating - for 90 minutes, during which I was able to get him to slow down long enough to take small bites of dry toast so that he'd have something in his stomach along with the medication I knew I had to give him. Afraid that the movement, toast and meds might be too much for his tummy, I made Bud lie down, and after half an hour of Elmo's World scripting in bed, he fell fast asleep and slept for the rest of the afternoon.
He was in good spirits this evening, and had, in fact, done a turn-around regarding school tomorrow. This morning, he lifted his head from the toilet long enough to tell me, "I guess I won't be going to school on Monday." But this evening on his way to bed, he thought it might be a good idea to go to school tomorrow. He has a hunch that his illness will make for a good story and will garner a lot of sympathy and support from Mrs. Nee, who, he tells me, will say, "Oh, no! That's terrible!" And, of course, he doesn't want to miss that.
But time will tell, and we'll see how the evening goes and how he looks in the morning. He's sleeping now, and within minutes, I will be, too. It has been a very long day.
(That was your cue. Everybody, now: "Oh, no! That's terrible!")
Good night, friends.