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Leah Ferguson

In the Spirit of Things

Our township holds Trick-or-Treat Night always on a Thursday, no matter on what day Halloween actually falls.  Yeah, I don’t understand either. That night, David took our eldest daughter out into the wind and rain and cold to greet the neighbors while I stayed home with a ladybug with a runny nose.  SK was giddy to wear her purple princess dress, complete with random sparkly butterfly wings (I know, I know.  David wanted her to be Buzz Lightyear.  I was hoping for maybe a cute bumble bee costume, but alas, she asked for a wand.  A wand and a crown, to be exact.  Damn you, preschool, and your dress-up corner.) They returned home about an hour and a half later, flushed, excited.  SK was anxious to delve into her treats, and I was curious to hear about everything we missed. Me:  “So, Saoirse Kate, did you tell a lot of people what kind of princess you were?” SK:  “No.  I just wanted to get to the candy.” Happy Halloween, everybody…

Can’t Get that Queen Song Out of My Head

And the second one’s down. On Day 2 of Daughter the Elder’s full-blown cold, Daughter the Younger came down with a fever, congestion, and middle-of-the- night barfing, thereby making me very aware of three realities: 1.  There are very few things that can shake a mother up like witnessing that horrible glassy-eyed stare of a child with a fever.  You know it’s coming–she suddenly has no appetite, she keeps shoving her fist against her mouth, she’s begging for hugs like a child faced with the mall Santa at Christmastime.  But then the fever hits, and the alarm on the thermometer goes off, and you reach for the medication, and your heart is racing.  The.  Pits. 2.   Barfing is gross, especially when your poor child is too young to get to a bucket/toilet/trash can before she barfs, and she’s forced to crawl through it before she starts crying for you.  It’s really gross.  And when the child who just emptied the contents of her stomach all over her face and hands wants to give you grateful kisses, well, what are you…

A Day in the Life

Saoirse has come down with a cold, thereby heralding in the beginning of the Preschool Plague that will probably persist until, oh, May.   I had, of course, 30 billion errands (does that sound like a lot to fit in between the hours of 9 and 12?) to run, and had a whole list of go-go-go planned, until Saoirse walked into our room this morning, shuffled up to the bed and said, “Mom? I’m not feeling so well.”   That sound you hear is the imaginary brakes squealing on my day. So the poor child curled up on the couch this morning, with lemonade and chocolate chip Annie’s bunnies, watching Toy Story, and Clifford and Sid the Science Kid–basically, more TV than she watches in a month.  Poor, poor sheltered child.   “I just need to rest,” she told me.  “I’ll feel better tomorrow,” she said, so stuffed up she sounded like she’d been buried under the sofa pillows. She popped the DVD in the player, and when she saw the castle appear on the Disney logo, she asked me what it was (told you…