Hey y'all-
Hagen's the same, I'm a little better now that I've got antibiotic goo for my eye, and your dad is worse. He called in sick to work today, but then we got a call that a realtor wanted to show the house, so I made him get up from his deathbed to help me clean. I don't know if it's because we're the ones responsible for childbirth, but I've noticed that women in general and southern women in particular have almost zero tolerance for men moping around complaining about their illnesses. I once saw my mother hurl a bottle of Tylenol in Tex's direction as he moaned about being on the verge of death; that wallpaper wasn't going to hang itself.
You dad picked me up some cough syrup in town yesterday, but he got the mildest, non-drowsy form of Robitussin there is. What's the point of that? I want to take two swigs of something that knocks my butt out for 24 hours, and if I wake up tomorrow and Ella has decided to raise Hagen as her own, well, that's a price I'm willing to pay for a good night's sleep.
You know who remains in excellent spirits, without a care or cough in the world? This joker:
"Mommy, can we make a chocolate cake with sprinkles on it and I can stir the ingredients?"
I was going to say no, but you had me at "ingredients."
We made a chocolate cake, but only because I wasn't smart enough at the time to google, "Homemade Ny-Quil."
Love,
Mom
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