A little over an hour later, I heard Sam coming up the stairs, wailing at the top of his lungs. I guess his digestive system woke him up.

   

A little cuddling, a little more nursing, and he's back to his cheerful self. We go downstairs to read some books. In one book, the main character has a tummyache, and his mother makes him buttered toast. Sam thinks that sounds like an excellent idea.

   

Unfortunately, his stomach begins to cramp again a few minutes later. He's most unhappy. For whatever reason, he simply hates to "produce." He cuddles on my lap, trying to postpone the inevitable, and I rub his back while I check my email.

   

But he's just getting more and more upset. The nap wasn't nearly long enough, so he's tired along with the usual pre-poop anger. Soon he's hysterical. I could get upset, too, but today is a good day. I give him a multi-vitamin; B vitamins sometimes help him regain control. I also give him some Rescue Remedy. Then I put on some music and dance him around the room. It works! We have giggles!

   

   

Three-thirty: mail's here. It's mostly spam, but I save the Sears brochure. We'll need to buy a fridge and stove for the new house. I get the next load of laundry out of the drier to fold. Sam begins to fret again, but we avoid a tantrum by playing "Mister Underpants-Head."

      

Now I call Rita. She got out of the hospital last night, much to our relief. A new round of antibiotics has her feeling "like a new woman," she says. While I'm on the phone with her, Sam finally and quietly fills his diaper.

   

Now he's happy as a clam and no longer needs my undivided attention. He goes into his room to play by himself, and I use the downtime to download some of these pictures off the camera.

   

Whoops, almost five o'clock. Better get started on dinner. I've already got some pork thawed and prepared from last night, when Eric called late and said he'd be going out with friends for dinner. I'm planning to stir-fry it with garlic and roasted red peppers. I've got some rice already finished, too; how do you reheat rice? I decide to add a little water and some butter, then nuke it.

Oil heated, pork in the pan. Ouch! A bunch of oil splashes up over the stove and onto my arm. I yank the pan off the heat, then stick my arm under running water. The arnica is right over the sink, so I grab the bottle and pop a couple of tablets under my tongue. Oh, that hurts!

   

Though my arm continues to burn, I manage to finish most of dinner. Eric comes home around five-thirty and lends a hand. Sam helps by setting the table. While he's doing that, I remember that our first-aid kit might have some burn ointment in it! It does, and it helps quite a bit.

   

Dinner's on the table, and we all sit down to eat. I've also made some mixed vegetables, which Sam appreciates, and there's some leftover honey-curry bread. It's delicious.