Toddlers Love Nixon- Go figure

Motherf'er still sick.
This is getting old.
Real old.
Older than the scary banana that I found in the toy chest that was beginning to fossilize. I didn't even know that was possible.

I'm not one of those people that refuses to go to the doctor either, but when my HMO tells me it is going to cost more to visit the Urgent Care than my monthly Neiman Marcus bill and my primary care physician's dragon lady of a receptionist won't get me in until next week I'm less inclined to see the doctor.

So I'll do what H tells me and rest. As hard as that is for someone like me with Bree Van de Kamp tendencies and a two year-old daredevil who bores easily. To aid my resting I picked up a few books this week. I'm so excited about all three of them that I can't just read one at a time either. In no particular order- my stellar reading list.

Richard M. Nixon: A life in full

The Pleasures of the Damned, by Charles Bukowski

Edith Wharton

Reading one of these books has produced one of the cutest things I think I've ever heard uttered from T.D.'s lips, "Mo' Nixon? Mo' Nixon!". I know. Precious isn't she?

Truthfully, I think I'm getting better each day. It is just one hell of a cold. The cough alone is enough to have H sleeping in the guest bed each night away from my ever present force field of germs that continually tries to sway him over to the dark side. The man is imbibing orange juice and airborne on the hour. I've sucked the juice out of about nine lemons this week and eaten a gallon of honey. I've seen plaid spots on the bathtub.

Now if I could just get an adult-sized one of these I would be all set.

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