When the girls are sick, they wake up early. Take yesterday morning, for example. I (dan) was up just after 5AM, eager to log my first "sunroom morning" of the spring. The coffee had been brewed, my journal, books, and Bible were stacked on the table, and the moon still commanded the night's sky. Then, suddenly, Mia's cry cut through the silence and I was back on my feet, my devotion re-routed upstairs, cribside.
Bri was also awake but not yet demanding my servititude so I whisked Mia down the stairs and into the kitchen. I've learned that, for my eldest daughter, the best assumptive cure in moments like this is FOOD. And - when they are sick - I invoke the tradition of feeding them while they are sitting on top of the kitchen counter in their pj's. No bibs. No straps. It's high on danger, but high on cute. They munch on cereal, chew on grapes, and - if the mood allows - I'll even fry up some bacon. (Turkey bacon, that is. Which really shouldn't be allowed to be called "bacon" in the first place. The FDA should really make them call it "Turkey Strips" b/c it's not real bacon whatsoever. I'm sure we'll learn in 5 years that it causes some form of disease and that we were all better off for eating the real stuff. Perhaps they should be proactive and ban it all together and then my wife wouldn't be able to buy it except for on the black market. But we all know that's something she'd never do b/c she's such a rule follower. But I digress). And my girls know it's a big deal. They get that it's a special thing; something only dad would allow...and they praise me for it.