First night

Pure resolve did the trick until 1:00: when I arrived to dope him up on more purple stuff the fever was back, and 104. "Why did you take so long?" he asked, all sparkly eyed and dizzy. (Damn it--I never should have let him go in.) I carried him out to the car--he didn't even care that only babies put their heads on their mommies' shoulders in public. "Why didn't you go to the nurse's office?" I asked. "I'm sorry," he said. He made it to the couch awake. When I returned minutes later with the juice, he was out.

Nobody noticed he was sick. First day nutiness, no doubt; nobody knows his normal, too. "There was a kid crying this morning," he told me, "and the teacher didn't hug him or anything. She just told him that he'd be OK, but I could tell he didn't believe it. She was mean." "She was probably trying to calm him down. Were you crying?" I asked him. "Only in the bathroom, 'cause I felt sick and you weren't there." Oooooh. Liamy. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

Maisie, conversely, bounded in the door, floating on air. "It was GREAT today!"

Halfway there.