The Blood of a Young Boy

I’m always amazed at how The Baby can literally be a wet noodle one second and raring to go the next.
This morning I was already restructuring my day in my mind because I was sure he was going to have to skip school. He staggered downstairs, and instead of his normal Dictator Like breakfast demands, he laid right on the couch.
During the car ride to the Big Kids’ school he was silent. No radio command, no cereal requests.
Then we got home and as I prepared to call his school, he asked for an apple. Three bites in, I actually watched as his color came back, his spine straightened and The Chatter began in earnest. As I’m sitting here typing this, he’s going on and on about his imaginary friends’ Christmas lists and how they get everything they ask for. (Lucky guys. Clearly they have a superior mom.)
So much like Mr. Burns in that Simpsons Episode where he uses Bart’s blood, My Boy had been rejuvenated with the blood of a young boy.
And the miracle of food.