Are you sure it is not Friday the 13th?

All day I kept telling myself that Wednesday the 13th is almost like Friday the 13th, Except Owen reminded me that today was the 14th. (Seems that he is keenly interested in counting down the days). Today I felt bound and determined to have a productive morning. I am learning that I have to readjust my definition of productivity with Aidan home. I now anticipate being interrupted for Mok or "Cwakahs" (test your Aidanese!) or a story.

On top of all the grading and other such merrymaking, Harry has been going through this phase. Whining. I've been trying a couple of strategies for this. He also has been using "I'm not feeling well" as his excuse du jour. My point - I suddenly have become very bad in determining the authentic whining "I'm not feeling wells" from his packaged excuses. Today, he had to keck in the van to make his point. I arrived home, still bound and determined to let productivity triumph over procrastination (you know, something that I am currently avoiding). Harry is a good patient. He hurls neatly in a bucket, and I can tend to him as I continue this productivity thing again. Later in the morning, after he had a long nap, and I had a bit of work accomplished, Harry told me he was hungry. He then went about rustling something out of the kitchen when I heard a tremendous crash! I immediately investigated and there he was on the floor with the barstool. I checked body parts, and I asked him where it hurt the most and he wailed 'MY HEAD!". I brushed his bangs aside only to see a behemothic goose egg. Yikes! I laid him down on the couch, got him a cold compress and then looked into his eyes. You know this is one of the first things you need to check out if the person is conscious. Then I realized I was not sure what I was looking for. I called Eric and he asked me to check for blood coming out of his ears. I think seeing that would sufficiently freak me out enough to dial 911. Then he asked me if his pupils were two different sizes. Ah! No. So, "productivity" now officially out the window, I decided to keep an eye on him. In the midst of all this, Harry is seriously freaking out, lamenting and sobbing. I comforted him by rubbing his back and assuring him that he was okay, but gave him space to bawl. After all, that must have hurt like hell. At some point he started crying 'I CAN"T STOP CRYING!" "WAAAA!" That was interesting. So I started talking him down and it seemed to work. That was when he learned the word "goose egg" and I gave him some motrin. About two hours later, he was over the initial shock and awe and became an innocent bystandard to an Aidan meltdown. He threw a toy with a hard corner, which hit Harry square in the foot. This has not been Harry's day, has it? He is, he tells me, looking forward to telling Mrs. F about his goose egg.

And Tomorrow is Owen's Christmas concert. As good merit would have it, my niece and nephew both attend the same school as Owen. The school did a charity fundraiser - raffling off front row tickets to the concert. My sister called me and said she won a pair and offered me the other. After Tuesday's fiasco (on my part, not Harry's), this was like Front row tickets to see Peter Gabriel or Dead Can Dance. And Eric gets to tend to our fellow Aidan...