.Today was day eight of this flu. My body has nearly fought it off two or three times, but it keeps coming back worse. Today my body made noises like it was thinking maybe this should become a bout of bronchitis.

I was out for an hour-long meeting with a homeopath student friend so she could give me opinions about my health, but it involved a lot of talking and coughing and coming home exhausted and having more coughing fits and then fighting with all the kids. I spent some time on the couch feeling sorry for myself and then, having to go upstairs on some errand, found the kids still up. After a round of, “are you on your way back to bed? Everything all right?” we managed to sort things out something like this:

Me (poking my head into Ethan’s room): “If I ask if we can talk about that fight are you going to say something rude to me?”

Ethan: “Probably.”

Me: “Okay… I just-”

Ethan: “But it’s only because if I’m not mad at you I won’t cry and then I’d just cry later like at school.”

Me: “You don’t want to talk to me because you don’t want to cry?”

Ethan: “No, I would rather cry now and if I’m not mad at you I won’t cry.”

Me: “…Is this some kind of teenager logic because it makes no sense to me.”

Ethan: “Well I can’t cry for no reason.”

Me: “Oh yes you can. That’s the privilege of being a teenager. I cried over everything when I was a teenager. Like if I thought I was going to make spaghetti for lunch and then there was no spaghetti – I could cry over that. Why are you laughing? It’s true.”

Ethan: “Oh, I KNOW it’s true. That’s actually WHY I’m laughing.”

Me: “… So can I explain something to you about that fight?”

Ethan: “Sure.”

Me: “You may not like it, because it’s not actually about making peace or making you feel better. It’s about me…”

Ethan: “Okay.”

Me: “Sometimes you’re hard on me. Sometimes you’re very, very hard on me. Which is fine; it’s very natural and normal. But it feels profoundly unfair that when I ask you to go to bed and explain that I’m taking a hard line on it because I’m exhausted and sick and need some space that you know it’s because having you nearby is frequently hard on me, but your response is to get offended that my peaceful time doesn’t involve you and then be really hard on me.”

Ethan: “Uh, is this some kind of twisted adult logic? Because it makes no sense to me.”

Me: “Haha. Touché.”

Ethan: “No but really. You’re going to have to bring it down to my level. Hey! Do you know what bread is in latin?”

Me: “what?”

Ethan: “Panus.”

Me: “Hahaha. Wait, is Hannah crying?”

Hannah (poking her head out of her bedroom door): “I stubbed my toe when I was getting up to see you.”

Me: “Here, let me give you a hug. Sheesh. Is there anyone here who hasn’t been crying tonight?”

Rachel (poking her head out of her bedroom door): “I haven’t!”

Me: “Oh, I thought you’d been crying when I yelled at you about the hummus.”

Rachel: “Nope. I just went away with my head down.”

Me: “Well, I did want to let you know that I know I overreacted.”

Rachel: “Okay.”

Me: “I was just going over it with Ian after you went to bed. I’ll figure out why it pushed my buttons so badly and then you and I can discuss and figure out how we can have these conversations about food in the future without it getting so charged.”

Rachel: “Okay, cool.”

Me: “Are you good now, Hannah?”

Hannah: “Yep.”

Me: “Okay, good night.”

Hannah: “Good night.”

Rachel: “Good night.”

Ethan: “So this reminds me, when I was in math class-”

Me: “So about my needing some downtime-”

Ethan: “today, this girl who sits in front of me was saying-”

Me: “And apparently you’re going to be home with me all day tomorrow, so goodn-”

Ethan: “Okay, what I really want to know is, who fixed Edgar?”

Me: “Maybe he fixed himself. Goodnight.”

Ethan: “Edgar! Did you fix yourself? Who taught you to stitch? Who taught you?”

Me: “Uh-huh. Goodnight.”

Ethan: “I wish he could tell me. Maybe if he had a mouth.”

Me: “I guess you’ll have to stitch him a mouth. I love you. Goodnight.”

Ethan: “Love you too. Goodnight.”