It's Maxwell's third birthday today. And celebrating his birthday is definitely the bright spot in our otherwise not-so-fantastic week.
On Sunday morning, I felt a little under the weather, but by the afternoon I was being slammed up the side of the head with something downright beastly.
And it has been beastly: a really raw sore throat, a racking hacking cough, no appetite, and complete fatigue. I also lost my voice. Like, completely. On Wednesday, each time my phone rang, I had to send out a text that said, "Sorry. My voice is gone. Can't talk."
Sadly, I've shared my plague with each of the boys, and all but Mike have also gotten it. (Thank goodness Mike was spared. He kept things in order.)
But besides illness, Mike came home late Tuesday night with a paper in his hands. I was already in bed, but I asked, "What's that?" "Something not good," he said.
It was an accident report. While he was at school, someone ran into our (parked) car. Mike is inclined to see this as a good thing since (A) he wasn't in the car, (B) it wasn't his fault, and (C) our car is almost 20 years old and would have had to be replaced in the soonish future anyway. But I like being able to do things on my own time, and I wanted to be able to drive our car for at least another year while Mike finishes school and we save some money. And sadly, it does have to be replaced. (The repairs were going to cost $5000, and the car isn't even worth half that.) Plus, I actually loved our car. It was a '94 Buick LeSabre, and man, it was one posh ride--roomy and comfortable with all the latest gadgets 1994 had to offer. We will miss our dear Millie.
But, like I said, today is Maxwell's birthday, and things are looking up. He's about the cutest birthday boy you ever did see (in spite of his nose, which continues to run). He has exclaimed with pure joy over every delightful happening.
And like any polite boy should, anytime someone wishes him a happy birthday, he says, "Happy birthday to you, too."