Tired. Left side of my back hurts when I cough. Throat feels glunky. Head feels whirly and fluzzered. Finding comfort in dark chocolate. Don't feel like writing.

No real desire to run to the computer and blog about a conversation I had with my co-worker about how Charlie doesn't need to eat sugar-free foods like her type 2 father.

Not in the educating mood.

No strength for sarcasm. 

No desire to give an explanation to the lady working the Christmas tree farm when she says "I like your bag" as if its filled with Lego pieces or mascara. 

Thanks! Merry Christmas! I carry this bag around so that I can take blood from my son twelve times a day. Wanna watch? And for your information, it's got pictures of rocket ships. Lots of 'em. Manly rocket ships that terrorize the galaxy!

Well, maybe a touch of sarcasm.

Instead, I raise the bag in the air and throw her half a smile.

Susanne and I were talking last night about how it would be nice to get out alone. There's a world out there. Or so I'm told. It might be time that we put some of our extended family members through our rigorous Charlie boot camp in our training facility in the mountains of West Virginia. Hard to even fathom this, but maybe even attempt an overnight getaway. We can really use it.

We explained the fable, The Boy Who Cried Wolf, to Charlie to send him a message about the dangers of lying about his blood sugar being low in order to get a snack.

[Cough!!!] I feel like crap. Did I mention that?

I think Charlie understood the moral of the story.

If you lie about your blood sugar, you get eaten by a wolf.