Home again, Home again, Jigg-… no really, I’m home again…


Greetings from the Tragic Chair ®, formerly the Magic Chair ®, here at Stewart Lane.  After spending the better part of the last four days in this chair ministering to the slightly less than deathly ill, I would rather be anywhere BUT this chair, listening to the boy sing a song about poop. But errytime I get up, someone needs me for something or other.  So here I sit, broken hearted, or however the rest of that bathroom wall stall sonnet continues.  Ok.  Getting away from the scatological and to the pathological…

The boy seems to have broken his fever, but he still looks like death warmed over.  And the girl, who has been fighting it for the past week or so, asked if she could take a day of rest.  Since she hasn’t had a sick day all year, I figured I’d give her a break and let her rejuv.  Plus it saves a 40 minute drive each way later to pick her up, so it wasn’t COMPLETELY altruistic.  She can learn from the school of life today.  Which means later I’ll make her clean her room and load the dishwasher.

But in the meantime I am, and will forever remain,  Van Gogh Grumpy Cat…



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