I'm supposed to be writing something thoughtful and patriotic today, I know, but I just don't have it in me. Instead, I'm feeling pouty and out-of-sorts. Frankly, I'm having a teensy little internal temper tantrum...except, since I'm writing about it here, it's not quite so internal now, is it?
See, I'd been looking forward to last night for days: Baroy was going to be at a pickup rehearsal in Anaheim, Em was invited to a sleepover/backyard campout at her friend C's house, and N was invited to Weeyum's house to make up for the missed-due-to-fever sleepover of last weekend.
Except that, on Wednesday night, he started running a fever again. It's like his body is rejecting the idea of a sleepover.
So, instead of a night full of little self-indulgences--I was going to try out a new recipe, soak in the not-hot-hottub in the moonlight, have a couple of martinis, watch a movie on the actual TV instead of on my computer screen--it was a night full of little N-indulgences, things like fishsticks and Spongebob and a rousing game of stack-the-buckets. Which is fine. He was sick, and sad about missing *his* fun, and making him feel better is my job. But inside, I kicked my little psychic feet and pummeled the ground with my little psychic fists at what was supposed to have been.
Today, with a low-grade version of said fever still hanging on, the day again isn't going to be what I wanted it to be. One of us is going to take Em to our friends' house for swimming and barbequeing, and the other of us is going to have to stay home with N, and I don't like either of those choices, the staying or the going. I want to be together...all together. With my friends, with my husband, and with both of my kids.
And so I'm not going to wish anyone a happy birthday today, not even my country. Because I'm pissy and pissed off and feeling petty and spiteful.