The End Is Near

I find myself still unable to speak clearly for any length of time, so getting the podcast out has been impossible. I think I might start doing it in stages, a few minutes here and there just to get the first chapters out to everyone. I feel horrible. I'd so wanted to start Frankenstein for Halloween.

Ah well...the best laid plans, blah blah blah.

And, of course, I'm not the only sick one.
Andrew leaves and Thing 2 gets Croup. I've never met Croup before. It's horrifying. The poor little guy couldn't breathe in OR out. His cute little voice had been replaced by hideous, raspy, seal-boy, barking and wheezing--not a high pitched wheeze, either, but this low, growling, rolling, aching snarl

I hope I never hear this again.

I tried to get an inhaler in his mouth--HA! He was awake and crying but not really awake enough to reason with (who am I kidding? He's three...like we ever are able to reason with him). I pulled down one of the humidifiers--which was strangely missing it's water-container cap. Okay, so that's trash--not fun to discover at 12:30am. Humidifier #2 comes down and it's good to go...but there are no available plugs. Unplug the air purifier and...find yourself unable to get the humidifier plug into that socket.

One whole I Love Lucy sketch later, and the humidifier is in. Thing 2 has already collapsed backwards in bed, sound asleep and breathing pretty well.

I go back to bed and fall into it. I'm still having trouble myself, so I take a hit off of my (brand new) inhaler and pass out. I come-to about 15 minutes later, coughing myself awake. I pop a Halls (mmmmmmmmmm mentholyptus!) into my mouth, take a swig of water, and curl up again.

I know, I know, sleeping with a cough drop in your mouth--especially when sleeping alone--isn't such a great idea. So sue me. It works.

Thing 2 and I repeat our comedy act three times during the night. Finally at 5am, I ask him if he wants to get into bed with me. Yes he does, so we stumble back to my room, which is (mercifully) dark as a tomb, and I arrange the pillows around him for maximum safety. He snuggles in and I ask if he wants to hold my hand. No. He grabs his hand away from me and is fniffy in ways that only a three year old can be--followed almost immediately by this little arm snaking through the covers to find and clamp onto my hand as he falls, immediately, into an occasionally fitful sleep.

Me?

I just stay there, listening to make sure he's breathing.

The next day, yesterday, after nearly four hours at Urgent Care (our pediatrician sucks) they give him a liquid steroid.

And last night?

The boy slept.

But none of that has anything to do with the title of the blog post.

In the middle of all of this, I've been working on socks for the Second Hogwarts Sock Swap. Luckily, both my pal and I have had a hard time finishing--I'm doing the Railroad (I think) pattern for gentlemen's socks from Nancy Bush--lovely pattern, easy to memorize repeat, freakin' tiny gauge. They're taking me forever.

But will be lovely when they're done.

I have about another two inches before I can start decreasing for toes.

The end is near.

Next? I weave.