Eleven hours of sleep. Holy cow.
I decided to take a long four-day weekend (like many of you) over the Easter holiday and return to the blog writing business refreshed and energized. The problem with holiday weekends, though, is that they’re exhausting. And I never think they’re going to be. I always think that just because this weekend is a day or so longer than most I’ll be able to catch up on all kinds of tasks and errands and trek back and forth across the GTA (Greater Toronto Area) visiting and still wind up feeling reinvigorated.
So when I lay down beside my extremely high-strung and caffeinated three-year old last night, (who’s idea was it to promise Easter chocolate as an after dinner treat?), my plan had been to help him settle down and then put on a pot of coffee and write a thoughtful treatise on the role of religion in the family in this new millennium.
sick baby.) I’m not talking about anything serious or drawn out and I’m certainly not talking about anything that involves the loss of bodily fluids. But a low-grade fever? And maybe a scratchy throat? C’mon, it’s not so bad. 
Hey Rebecca!