Skip to main content

Fever

Mallory fell ill Friday night with what has now been determined to be strep throat on top of flu. She had to miss a birthday party sleepover Saturday night and, yesterday, had to communicate by Magnadoodle messages because it hurt to talk. Poor girl.

I went to check on her around midnight on Friday and found her very, very hot. I woke her up to give her some Tylenol and then sat with her while she fell asleep. "Mommy," she said, "before you came in here, I think I heard the Kleenex box talking to me."

"Did you?" I said, startled, as you would be too.

"Yeah...and it kind of freaked me out. So I said a prayer to my guardian angel to protect me, and after that the talking stopped."

"Well, I'm glad that worked," I said.

"Yeah." A moment of silence. "Do you ever pray to your guardian angel?" she asked.

"Not for a long time, I haven't," I said.

"I think it really works. Mrs T" -- her third-grade teacher -- "told me all about it one day when I was worried about taking a times test. And I passed the test, so it must really work."

"That's good," I said, wondering why her guardian angel couldn't manage to nudge her past her three-times table.

"Mrs T is a good teacher," Mallory mumbled. "You know, especially when it comes to Jesus."

I don't know if it was the fever talking or just a weird dream. Either way, I think I'll let Mrs T know that she's making an impression.

Comments

aimee said…
I like that--especially when it comes to Jesus.

Tell Mallory we hope she gets to feeling better soon.
Karen said…
Poor baby. That can't be any fun!
Hope she is feeling better soon.

Popular posts from this blog

I ask you

This is my garden: Or rather, this is the patch of soil that was my garden last summer. It produced millions of tomatoes, dozens of green peppers, a handful of cucumbers, and two puny watermelons. I do not wish to repeat last summer's vegetable bounty, because most of said bounty went to waste. Nor, however, do I want this patch of soil to remain brown and bare throughout the summer, because it's unattractive. So, what do I plant here, in the shrubbery/flowery vein? Keep in mind that I do not have a green thumb. Also, I don't want to spend a lot of money. Also, this area is in full sun most of the day. And it's really hot. And sometimes we get rabbits. Any advice? To thank you in advance, I give you these goofy photos of my children and their homemade parfaits (which Mallory persisted in calling "specialinis").

It's what's for dinner

One of the things that I failed to appreciate about my mom until I left home is that she always made dinner (although I think we called it supper then), by which I mean, something hot, usually involving a vegetable. I don't remember my mom ever saying sheepishly to her hungry spouse and offspring, "I don't feel like cooking, how about a bowl of cereal?" I hate making dinner. Haaate it. It's my least favorite chore. It's not necessarily because I can't cook. I can usually manage to create something edible, although I have yet to perfect the science of getting, say, the chicken and the broccoli and the rice and the rolls all ready at the same time. (There are those among you who may be surprised that I make and serve broccoli. It's true! It's best when roasted: Toss with olive oil and salt, spread on a baking sheet, put in 400 degree oven for about 8 minutes. It's delicious! Delicious as broccoli can be, at least.) It's also not necessarily t...

the closet

Amy has challenged me to list 8 things that are hidden in the back of my closet. I try not to actually look to closely at the back of my closet, so these are my closest guesses: 1. At least three no-longer-needed diaper bags. 2. An outfit that I've been meaning to return to Land's End for at least six months now. 3. One of our wedding pictures, which has a broken frame which I keep meaning to replace. 4. Shoes, shoes, shoes, shoes. 5. Possibly a pair of fuzzy slippers. I miss those fuzzy slippers. Maybe I should brave the mess and go try to find them. 6. Baby blankets. 7. A few small toys that I meant to stick in the girls' Christmas stockings. Maybe next year. 8. And I'm guessing, a bunch of mismatched socks. My closet isn't very interesting, I'm afraid.