Hey Snooze Master–

I hope you’re working on more sleep than I am today. I don’t do great in the sleep deprived zone.

Last night after we got the boys’ toofers brushed, we were doing good night smooches, and we noticed that a lump the size of a small lemon had formed under Noah’s right jaw. 

Since we moved to Mass three weeks ago, we’ve been cycling through bouts of various crud and fever.

Nothing that rest, water, and Tylenol couldn’t help, but kindofa pain in the 🐴 when you’re tryina acclimate to a new spot, unpack boxes, and wrap your head around all kinds of unfamiliar.

Not knowing what we were dealing with, we decided to take Noah to get checked out at the emergency department near us. He was a regular jammie warrior during our wait.

(Emergency depts are fighting the good fight–they need our support and love ps.)

We burned up my phone battery with some Paw Patrol highlights, Super Why, and Little Einsteins, and then caught some zzzzs.

Lil bear ended up taking his first ambulance ride to UMass children’s hospital to get some things ruled out. 

A long night-into-day later, he was cleared. I learned what parotiditis was, and we headed off into the cloudy what-day-is-it? morning toward the first Dunkies drive thru I could find. 

Noah was a trooper. The only Exorcism of Emily Rose moment we had was Noah’s clear hatred of the ultrasound gel on his face followed by a very echo-y/screamy visit to the hallway potty. 

Butterfly/needle/IV? Mild discomfort, moderate crying.

Ultrasound gel? Harry Potter mandrake.  

We made it home and hugged Mommy and brother a lot, and Melissa spotted me a morning nap–one of those where you stir and feel like you could hibernate another couple months.

Topping off the health concerns, we’re also in the throes of Jude’s acclimation to the pottay. 

After a missed opportunity for numero deuce practice, I was cleaning some artfully soiled training undies in the toilet when my snooze-depleted neurons told the phalanges of my right hand to release the fouled fabric into the strong stream of the whooshing waters.

And just like that, the dinosaur-print undergarment disappeared. 

I pickle-jar-clawed my hand into the toilet thinking I could do a Mrs. Incredible rubber arm stretch into the S-curve, but my palm and thumb were not in compliance with said plan.

I called a plumber, and my trusty brother-in-law reassured us that the sewer pipes could probably accommodate my cloth contribution.  

The plumber also concurred. 

So, we’ll be on the lookout for a backup in the meantime. 🤞💦

Prolly shouldn’t have texted my landlord immediately after the event to ask if she had a preferred plumber. (She didn’t.)

The moral of the story today is simple–get some bleepin sleep if you can. 

It makes a world of difference. You’ll be smarter and nicer.

And as unsexy as this is, sleep is one of the best gifts you can give your voice.

In the meantime, wish us luck as we kick out the last of the crud, help Noah’s sweet side-face return to normal size, and hope Jude tells us about his major bathroom event needs BEFORE the event.

And please do remember that there’s just one you, and folks really do need to hear the story that only you can sing. And when you rest, it’s so much easier.

Love much,

ps We took a hike around the mill pond in Ashland this week. We got a great break in the temp, thank gootness. 

Got me thinking about trees, and if you want some wonder in your life and the calm that only comes from listening to Dame Judi Dench say anything, watch this doc– Judi Dench: My Passion for Trees

pps If you’re ever near Worcester, Mass (and hopefully not for a visit to UMass Hospital) or the Ashland Fahmah’s Mahket, check out Crust Bakeshop. Or call them and convince them to ship you a sourdough, ciabatta, chocolate chip cookie, and pain au chocolat. Yeah I tried em all.