LJ Friends Lists

If I'm on your friends list and you're not on mine, why are you reading me? I'd love to know. If you are, of course; I might be on there for some entirely other reason. I know some people added me so I could read individual posts linked from other people's journals, and stuff.

But I am curious.

Alligators!

Well, that was fun.

Emer and Linnea both have this summer cold - the same one I have and Rob is getting. So Linnea spends all night coughing like a 40-a-day smoker and Emer is covered in streaks and bubbles of snot. Last night Emer slept in my bed and Rob in hers because I knew ahead of time that it was going to be tough.

It was.

She finds it easiest to breathe when she's swallowing a lot, which makes sense, and means constant feeding.

And then there was the alligator. Sometime after I first woke, it became clear that we'd moved house and now had a pet alligator just outside, living in a hole next to the entrance ot the stream, in the mud. We were near a swamp again (lot of swamps in my dreams lately, presumably to do with Burma on the early morning news) and the alligator escaped.

At one stage someone was persuading me that the best way to accustom it to being around children was to bring my children nearer and nearer to it.

Nothing bad happened but I think that's because my terror woke me up properly and I found myself back in bed; I checked quickly that there were no alligators in my room or in Linnea's room and went back to sleep.

Later Rob woke me because Linnea needed me; I got into bed with her, and rubbed her back so she could cough more productively.

The glamour of my life astounds me.

Not for the squeamish: Milk and snot and potatoes

Life when you're one and three-quarters: constant swallowing makes it easier to breathe, so you glug milk like there's no tomorrow. Eventually, the mucus you're swallowing is rejected by the stomach or points north thereof, and comes back up, bringing with it all that lovely milk and several totally unchewed lumps of potato. Then the fever sets in and we can all heave a sigh of relief that at long, long last your immune system has decided to get cracking.

Oh, but now it's MY fault you're poorly and I'm utterly rejected in favour of Daddy. Until you want milk again, presumably.

It's hard to sleep when you're ill like this, though. For, ahahaha, everyone.

(As I recover, Rob is getting worse, and as Linnea recovers, Emer is getting worse. Oh well.)