The Miracles of Soup

Last night was teacher conference night for the babe. The teacher gave the little one rave reviews and lots of kudos for all the improvement she's made over the year. We still have a ways to go in the math arena, but she loaded me down with practice sheets to help us along the way. I was quite proud of my little sweet pea.

Afterwards, I stopped at the store to pick up more box juices for her lunch, tissue, powdered drink mix for me, light bulbs, Tylenol Cool Burst Cold medicine for me and ladies feminine products (how'd you like that list?). :) Hubby and I are convinced my body rapidly adapted to the generic stuff I was taking and now, it was time to move onto the good stuff. I also stopped over at the Chinese restaurant in the same area (Aroma Garden) to pick up a small bowl of wonton soup and some pot stickers. I was craving, but with a purpose last night. The soup felt so good going down my sore, sore throat and the dipping sauce for the pot stickers was all too tasty! Is it the warmth and taste of soup that works the miracle for us or the soup itself?

I'm feeling a bit better, but not ready for a marathon by any means. I hope to go to my boot camp class tomorrow and I'm thinking a nice skull cap for afterwards is absolutely necessary. The class really kicks my butt...I enjoy the but kicking, but I enjoy the water even more. I've always said, if I could swim everyday, I certainly would...sick or not.

Hubby was extra cheery last night, even though he had an incident at work that left him really flustered. It's always frustrating to have guys come in hopped up off the streets, cussing you out because of the job you do. Some take the aggravation out on the prisoners, but my hubby has always been very good about holding his tongue. He even said last night that what he really wanted to do was pop open that cell and have the "big talker" put his money where his mouth was, but reason said, "You open those doors and choke his ass, you're out of a job, buddy." Not everyone is rational in the heat of frustration and distraction. I was proud of him for being the bigger man, as always.

After we chatted, he went to the gym and then to a bible study class. He's been missing church on Sundays, but still wants to find a way to participate in church. So, he's decided to go to a midweek service. He commented on the size of the group last night and the discussion topic, which brought back memories for me. Job. We actually studied Job in school (and yes. I went to a public school). It was for my AP English class and it was studied on a "literary" level, but of course, most of us in the class just loved the idea that we were pissing lots of people off by sporting our bibles all around school. As long as we weren't standing on soap boxes forcing people into a life of piety, who cares what we carried around?

Finally, in the midst of my sleep (which was wonderful and hard, on account of the new drugs in my body) I awoke to a screaming, fitful baby. She tossed, she turned...she didn't want me to hold her, she didn't want her Binky. I turned off the space heater and got her a bottle of cool water. She drank a bit then settled down. I took her back to bed and she became fitful again, so I turned to a new tactic. I began to speak calmly to her, telling her everything was okay and to go to sleep for mama. I found her Binky and placed it in her mouth. She started the forced sucking I've become so accustomed to and settled into a position that told me, "I'm tired, now. Please leave me be." Was this Indy's first nightmare?