On Friday night, I was sick. Sick like a dog. I've had a cold for about ten days now, but it kind of peaked on Friday night. I woke up coughing at four and couldn't get back to sleep. I finally stopped tossing and turning and went downstairs to make warm water with honey, then fell asleep drinking it on the couch.

All day yesterday I felt like hell. Groggy, sort of underwater. I kept almost falling asleep in the car. Beloved took the little angel to the Nutcracker practice, then we had the neighbor's birthday party, then we took stuff to Goodwill, then I grumped at Beloved because we'd lost a receipt I needed for my new office chair for taxes, then I went to OfficeMax to get a copy of the receipt, but that, my friends, was NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE, then I came back and we went to see Christmas in the Park lights.

All day long I was grouchy, crabby, a bear. I felt gross. I didn't want to do anything. But there was a lot to be done. By the time we went to the lights, I was feeling a little guilty.

"I'm sorry I've been grouchy, guys."

A voice piped up from the back seat over the Christmas carols on the radio. "That's okay. We know how we're supposed to act when you're crazy. We're supposed to be really nice until you start acting normal again."

I looked back at her, which was hard because it was totally dark.

 "What did you say?"

She nodded, huge blue eyes solemn. "It's okay, Mom. We understand."

I turned back around in my seat, not sure whether to be offended or happy. I chose happy. I AM crazy sometimes. At least they still love me.

This morning, I found the little angel sitting on the kitchen floor before her white board. She'd drawn two happy faces and a scrunchy face.

"This is yesterday's report card," she said, not turning to face me. "You got a scrunchy face because you were grouchy yesterday."

Huh.