Dear fucking fantastic fabulous blog readers to whom I'm forever indebted for lifting my head out of my ass yesterday with offers of alcohol and helping hands across America and Canada:
I know you've got nothing else to do, this the day before Christmas Eve, other than run to your feed reader to find out what the hell is going on with Quinlan's ear. Okay maybe not you Christian readers, but you Jewish folks. You've got time to spare, right?
Sorry, that was the tylenol and the sore throat talking.
Anyway, her ear is relatively fine - a little red with a little bit of fluid, but nothing worth acting upon. And honestly, she hadn't ever complained about it once until we noticed that she couldn't hear us and we kept asking her and then surprise! it was all about her ear all the time. "I can't clean up my toys, Mommy, it must be my ear."
Good one, kid. Way to manipulate your poor, tired, stressed out mother.
Things are evening out around here with some minutes decidedly better than others. But thanks to you, I'm treating myself to Chinese take-out tonight, which my husband is going to pick up, just as soon as he finishes painting the dining room.