Children, when they are ALMOST but NOT QUITE well, become possessed.  The little angel came home yesterday with a 102 degree fever at noon.  By four, she had poo running down her legs, out of her saturated diaper and onto the floor, right in the middle of my conference call.  By seven, she was running around the house trying to get Sybil to take her thyroid pill.

Last night, she woke several times, and, after some debate, we treated her a sick child instead of a well child. In the morning, she had a 101 degree fever.  Now she's napping. Her fever broke around 9:30 this morning, but it's been up and down all day.  I HAVE to go to work tomorrow, as does my beloved, so I'm humoring her this afternoon even though she's already spilled an entire container of rice on the back patio, killed three flowers by ripping their petals off when I wasn't looking, threw melons on the freshly washed kitchen floor and drank fourteen gazillion half-finished cups of milk.  I want her to get better so that I may then kill her.

Just kidding.  JUST KIDDING!

So, we've got to wait another day for the virginity talk. I promise, it will happen this week.  I think.