JZ is in bed now. Of course, now Matilda has decided that she too would love to catch a quick nap.
I'm trying to introduce JZ to the theory of six week and three month plateaus of increasing easiness.
Then I sang Matilda the song of, "Get over yourself, Little Fussa / You're a cute little Id monster and you want but you want / but nice to your Momma 'cuz she fills you up."
It didn't really rhyme, but she seemed to get the message.
FUCK, Sean! The Universe needs to cut you a break.
~~~~ma to your mom and coping to you. We're here.
Lots of ~ma to your mom, Sean.
Huge amounts of health-ma to your mom, Sean.
(((JZ))) I'm vibing hard that the rest of your week is calmer.
(((vw))) Feel better. Eat lots of yogurt.
(((Sean))) Tons of -ma to your mom. I'm so sorry.
Hil, congratulations.
Poor JZ. Sleep is good. Matilda will learn that, too.
{{{Sean}}} Sending all kinds of health~ma to your mom, and hugging the stuffing out of you. The universe can lay off you and yours now, for sure.
::readies mop bucket in case Sean's head explodes::
Dude. (And I think you catch all the empathy I intend when I say, "Dude.")
Just helped Emmett with his math homework. Prime factorization with exponents!
::patiently awaits praise from Emily and Hil::
Dude.
Indeed. Dude.
I think I'm safe from head explosions, as it sounds like they caught it early enough that we should be very happy, but it does feel like this news has added some insidious new shaped charge somewhere in my brain, possibly to be detonated by some other thing somewhere down the line.