Creep into the room quietly. Like a shadow.

Place testing supplies down gently beside the bed.

Don't stir the child. Avoid strong lighting. Use only enough to see what you're doing. I recommend a candelabra.

Tell the person playing the spooky pipe organ music to knock it off. It's not helping.

Gently pry his warm, sweaty fingers from underneath his pillow like they're bones guarded by a sleeping bulldog.

Inspect his fingers like a bad poker hand and discard each one until you find one you can use. (READ MORE)

Let's see. What's going on.

I have poison ivy. It's driving me insane. I don't think it will go away until at least February 2010. I do wonder how it would affect Charlie's blood sugar if I infected him.

Unlikely to happen though. Susanne has me quarantined in the basement bathroom, resting in a tub filled with hydrocortisone.

"Don't touch daddy!" It can be heard all day - thwarting attempts by the kids to climb me like a mountain or swing from my arms like a helicopter blade or take me hostage in some sort of secret agent operative.

It does have its perks though.

"Carey, can you give Ben a bath?"

"Sure. Let me just roll up my sleeves" [revealing a growth of small pink bumps climbing up my forearm like Clematis]. (READ MORE)