2008 began for me as I’m sure it did for a lot of people: with a terrible case of cotton mouth and a crick in my neck. In my case, though, it wasn’t from all the wild partying I had done the night before, but from the cold I felt coming on the day before. When I finally managed to get out of bed, I shuffled into the kitchen and sat at the table heavy-eyed and tired and basically feeling sorry for myself.
My son, however, was as chipper as ever. He was playing with the dog and one of the toys he’d gotten for Christmas while I pouted. He laughed out loud at what he was watching on television. I thought a shower and a bowl of soup would help me a little, and they did.Soon, though, my son was asking what we were going to do that day. I told him I wasn’t feeling well, so we probably would not go anywhere. He wanted to know if he could play with “that plaster stuff.” (Plaster of Paris). I said no. He wanted to know if he could paint. I said yes. He painted for a little while, and then wanted to know if he could go outside. I reluctantly said yes, but as long as he bundled up. He stayed out back with the dog for only a few minutes and was soon back in wanting to know what he could do for fun. Frankly, I just was not in the mood but felt like I needed to give him some kind of option, but what? My purse was sitting on the floor by the couch, and he dumped it out when his gum fell in it. Great… Then he eyed my makeup case and asked me if he could make me look “scary.” I figured I couldn’t get much scarier than I already was, so I said sure. I laid on the couch while the master went to work. Every once in a while I’d open my eyes and see him smiling, deviously.
Finally, he announced that he was done. I opened my compact and peered in to find this:
Happy New Year, everybody!