Fever Girl, Slang Boy

My daughter came home from school with a 101.3 fever -no other symptoms.
“All right,” I said to her, “Get in your PJs, grab a blanket and pick a couch. It’s time to rest and watch movies.”
“But…” her tired eyes welled up with tears, “It’s not dark time… and I just need to go to school tomorrow… I HATE when I don’t get to go to school!”
I held her close.
“When our body runs a fever, it gets hot,” I said, “When our body is hot, that means there’s a battle going on inside.”
“A battle?” She looked up at me, tears rolling down her cheek.
“There’s tons of good guys in your body and a few bad guys… sometimes the bad guys grow and grow and get too big. When they do, the good guys get out their guns and battle them and try to kill them.”
“They do?” She asked.
“They do. If you wiggle around and walk and jump and go places, the good guys can’t aim their guns very well…” I pretended to be a soldier holding a gun, wobbling all over the place. “But if you lie down and hold still, the good guys can aim no problem and they wipe out the bad guys in no time. What do you think you should do?”
“Rest,” she looked eagerly up at me, the tears drying up.

Within a few minutes, she was resting on the couch with no arguments.
“Mom,” she whispered to me, holding statue still, “I can feel them…”
“Are the good guys winning?” I asked.
“I think so.” Her face beamed.

Later on, I convinced her that water made the good guys stronger.

This morning, she woke up without a hint of fever. I’m keeping her home today, just in case.
Have I ever told you how much I love the age my kids are at? They’re so fun.

My husband has no idea that influence he has on them. They’ve slowly been picking up on his slang -of which he uses A LOT of.
“Mom,” my daughter said a few nights ago at dinner, “Check out my plate. I’m tearin’ it up.”

Last weekend as we were going for a walk, I had to keep herding my son toward the safe side of the road.
“Son, there are fast cars going by. They’re big and you’re small. If one hits you, it could kill you.”
“And you don’t want me to be smoked?” He asked, looking honestly up at me.
“Um, no,” I shook my head.
“You want me to be keeped?” He asked.
“I want you to be keeped,” I said, and I couldn’t help but stoop down and give him the best hug I could.

I want my kids to be keeped forever. I want them to be keeped just the way they are right now forever.
Santa is real.
The tooth fairy is planning visits.
They think I’m funny.
They think I’m right.
And they love unconditionally… I appreciate that more than anything else in the world.