This, the dreaded ear poker with high numbers, has chased the hot red ears of several boys here this week. Oh, but for the yummy sweet candy medicine that follows, they’d do anything for ibuprofen, to drink it with a straw, anything but throw up, which is what Jude has been doing for 24 hours. There’s nothing sweet about seeing a child emptied from head to toe.

In the throws of some long freelance work, my eyes cross at the screen, so tired. As on the SAT test, I begin to write ACDC ACDC ACDC.

Seth helps me work, is such a good daddy outside. Jude curls on a chair. I hear the swing screech forward; back; forward; back. He comes in to make dinner, and I throw down the yard quilt,  pallet perfection in the sun.

Called in for dinner with drool on my chin, those of us who can eat sit down to quinoa with black beans and tomatoes, only Seth’s version, which is some of the best stuff I’ve ever tasted. I love it when quinoa cooks and gets out all the little fun hula-hoops.