little bird

My little bird son has a sore throat. Last night at 3am I was certain that we were starting the swine flu journey (because that is what you do when you have catastrophic anxiety AND its 3am). This morning, in the light of day, it looks like a sore throat, no fever, and a day of watching cartoons for my son. That doesn't mean that I'm standing down my guard. Lysol and I are going to be good friends for the unforeseen future.

I call my son a little bird because he gosh darn looks like one when he is just in his skivvies. He is by no means unhealthy; he's just skinny. We call him our Ethiopian boy (no offense Ethiopians). He actually is (or should be) the role model in our home. He only eats when he's hungry (he has been known to turn down dessert), he eats quite slowly at the table, and he has loads of energy to burn. The rest of us 'scarf down' our food, do not turn down dessert and are prone to sedentary activities...and then if you compare us and him...you can see who has it right.

Here is a vision of our son....

The other three of us cozy on the couch watching Project Runway, our son, zooming around the house running circles from kitchen, to dining room, to family room and back again...Bob and Jillian from Biggest Loser would be proud of him and they'd be chewing the rest of us out! GET OFF THAT COUCH AND GIVE ME 20!