Anyone who knows me (or is related to me) knows I'm Norwegian. My cousin Rebecca took it one step further and calls us "Iwegians" because we are Norwegians from Iowa. We don't go about saying, "Yah, sure, you betch-ya!" all the time or throw our Nordic hips around while talking to trolls under the bridge. At least not this week. When I was in college a friend found some "ethnic" Barbies at a local Wal-Mart and they had a Norwegian Barbie which they described as: usually tall, blond, blue-eyed, and sturdy. Yep, we are a solidly built bunch, that's for sure.
I don't know if this little bit of information was passed down from our Norwegian ancestors or if it's something that my mother just pulled out of thin air, but ever since I was a little girl, whenever I felt sick my mom would tell me to take a bath and eat a piece of toast. In our family, toast and a bath seems to fix everything. She also says that all Norwegian food is just a vehicle for butter, which I fully believe.
Well, it seems that our little home remedy didn't seem to help me feel 100% better, but I'm certainly feeling better than I did last week. Aside from the crap that's living in my lungs and won't lodge loose, I'm feeling pretty good. Now it's just keeping Isaac healthy, which sometimes feels like it's impossible, but he seems to be doing really well so far. He's happy as a clam and he makes me smile every time I look at that sweet little face.
Now that sweet little face has a bit of a bruise on his left eyelid. He got all crazy yesterday and wanted to stand up by the chair, lost his footing and hit his head. Poor little lamb. He got over it very quickly and went along his merry way. So we went for a walk. Him in his little track suit, me in my coughing state hoping that the fresh air will clear out my lungs.
Do you think the kid could chill out a little bit? Gracious.