To put it mildly, we've had quite the week. There was no debating whether we welcomed March with a roar or with the bababa like a lamb. The media sufficiently hyped the impending storm Friday morning. Schools started announcing closings six hours before the estimated time of arrival. There was a buzz about town-Nashville was positioned to be at the eye of the storm. We packed up the dog, the baby, snacks, toys and pj's and headed to Gramma and Grampa Skis to wait it out.
It blew in quickly and left just as fast. It was cloudy with a chance of meatball-sized hail, and pomegranite and grapefruit-sized. While we survived practically unscathed, our cars did not. Up and down the parking lot, cars were peppered with dents and some even lost their windshields. A rental car and a hefty-deductable later, I'm sure they'll be as good as new in no time.
We enjoyed a relatively quiet weekend at home, other than a wee Bennett-sized cough. We barely noticed, and it didn't bother him in the slightest. It certainly didn't interfere with his new trickster ways. He now not only can ride and push his train, he can proudly stand on it too. No, there is not photographic evidence of his impending tight-rope walking skills. We needed all the hands we could get to make sure he didn't toppel over and bust his noggin. I can't help but think remembering his proud little smile may have been worth it.
However, Sunday night Bennett was up several times with a lion-sized cough. He survived RSV with nary a wimper. He fought the croup and he won. But the common cold knocked my man down. Hard.
Six days later, his roaring cough seems to be improving. He may actually go back to shool tomorrow and I might actually get to put in a full day at the office. I am hoping the saying is true, because a whole month of roaring skies and roaring coughs might just do me in.