So, I should begin this post by stating that I have not gotten physically sick since a tequila-induced, spring break incident back in,,, (I dare not type the year of my senior spring break, as it seems b.c. even to me). Father's Day started with a happy feeling. Bobby was home early from Shanghai and able to celebrate. Shortly after a big family breakfast, I started to feel really fatigued. I went and laid down. Shortly after, my stomach was turning. From there on, I spent the bulk of Father's Day sleeping, vomiting (I did not handle my first time in twenty some years well), and groaning (see previous parenthetical remark). Bobby spent the bulk of Father's Day taking care of Julia and the boys; playing nursemaid; and disinfecting after me. After one long slumber I awoke to find a card Julia made next to my pillow.
In case it is difficult to read, see below. I'll type it with the correct punctuation and capitalization so that I don't have to type [sic] a bunch of times. The teacher in me would be remiss if I didn't mention that it needed no spelling corrections.
Dear Mom,
Me and Dad [sic] love you. We hope you feel better. Dream of us praying for the best mom ever, and no matter what I say I will always love you.
Love,
Julia
I shared it with a friend saying, "How lucky am I?" Her response, "Like my pastor says, 'more than I deserve'."
Julia and Bobby are both more than
I deserve.
