This is my kid,
my fearless, funny, irrepressible, nut job of a kid.
And that, is how he approaches every aspect of his life. All out. No fear.
He leaves the worrying to me.
About five hours after that shot was taken (thank you Grandfather for the magnificent photo!), he was feverish, crying, revisiting his dinner.
Somehow though, he's able to even approach sickness with his characteristic wild abandon.
He does it with style. He grins in spite of himself because he's getting to watch cartoon after cartoon as he's served and snuggled.
While his brothers are staring dismally at their pea soup, he, having just finished his popsicle, gives them "the look," – the one that says, "Can you believe my good fortune? Don't you wish you were sick too?!"
In one hand he's gripping his green "just in case" bowl, in the other, his foam sword.
And should he start to feel bad, he sets his little mouth and gathers up his eyebrows. Determined, as always, to rise above, to show 'em who's boss.
He will conquer those "germies." He will vanquish them with ginger ale and "sickie man crackers" (mini saltines, for the uninitiated).
He will not be broken.
Sometimes, this kid's stubborn streak worries me, and then in times like this, I see it for what it is, for what it can be, when he uses his powers for good… a remarkable strength of character, a fighting spirit that is truly admirable.
I can only hope, that if he must share his germs with us, that he will also spread around some of the valiant determination that will get us through the rough spots.
As I sit here, trying to pretend that I do not feel queasy, I'm beginning to think that we might need some of his grit.