and then the devil and i made s'mores in the microwave and braided each other's hair
So, my call last night. What to say about my call? The call, it, how do you say, sucked. Just totally sucked. Between arrests and emergencies, and tending to my rock garden of a PACU (patients that weren't moving anywhere, since there were no beds in the hospital), it was like a sleepover party in hell. With Lucifer and me up all night playing Truth or Dare! Ah! Ah ha ha ha! Yes, delightful. Moving on now.
(Sorry, I'm a little bit sleep deprived. Just ignore me.)
Cal went to his little pre-school prep playgroup (or whatever you want to call it--just pick the least inflammatory label and go with it), and while I thought it might be an easier transition for him back into his routine if I didn't drop him off (I foresaw some tenacious neck-clinging), I did pick him up at the end of class. The door to the classroom was glass, but the teachers stuck up some kind of frosted contact paper up beyond child eye-level, so that they would not be distracted by the sight of the legion of parents outside, all jostling each other for a spot to see whether or not their kid was surviving in that cutthroat classroom environment. There was a clear space above the frosting, however, and at the end of class, I managed to peek in to see Cal in the storytime corner with all the other kids, singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" while accompanied by the appropriate pantomime. And then I DIED FROM THE CUTENESS.