Sunday night I came home to one very sick child. And when I say very sick, I mean, scary sick. A kind of sick I had yet to experience with either of my kids ever. Apparently it started Sunday morning but by Sunday evening, Archer was immobile. Refusing to leave the corner of my parent's couch. His eyes were swollen. He was shivering. 104 fever. Whimpering.
"I think you should stay here," Hal said. "I don't know if traveling back to LA is such a good idea right now."
And he was right. So Hal took the train back home and I stayed with the kids at my parent's house.

Archer, the picture of health (and angst) before I left for the weekend.
"He probably has the Swine Flu," my mom said.
"OH MY GOD! Really? Should we take him to the hospital? AHHHHHH!!!!"
"Nah, he'll be fine," she said.
And she was right, of course, but Sunday night was the first time in a long time that I spent the night worrying. In between rounds of "Moon River" and dabbing Archer's face with cold washcloths, I lied awake, listening to my babe's heavy breathing, totally afraid. And I started to think about parents who tend to sick children all the time. About the sick kids I used to work with and how their parents spent YEARS worrying, dabbing, singing, rocking, being afraid.
So.
I would like to take this moment to give thanks for my children's health.
Thank you, universe. For curing Archer of Swine Flu or regular Flu (or whatever it was that made him sick for three days) so that he can now sit beside me as I type this, happily devouring a bag of pretzels while kicking me with muddy shoes.
And thank you for making it so that everyone in my family can eat pretzels and kick each other with muddy shoes right now if they feel like it.
You rule.
***