Passover Eve: the boys have had their haircuts, they have some new clothes to wear for the first Seder, and most of the food is prepared. Everything seems to have survived my illness and my wife's illness, and the kids have been briefed as to behavior and standard for the next few days.
The walls are nearly done outside of our house. Surprisingly quickly, considering the breadth of the project - there is a lot of wall around our house. They are doing a wonderful job, and these walls look like they'll outlast the house. Which is nice, I suppose. All I need is for them to last long enough so that when we sell the place (when we're too old to be going up and down these stairs all the time) they'll be a plus and not a negative.
One correction that The Boy needs to understand: yesterday was not HIS day but OUR day. It wasn't his fight; it was our fight. While he directly experienced the medicines and surgeries, we were there to clean surgical wounds, clean up puke and poop and piss, cheer him when he was sad, comfort him when he was in pain, and live through the peaks and valleys. My wife, my mother in law, and I were there for every single day; our fathers were there for an exceptional amount of it as well. Little Bear spent most of his first year going to hospitals with his brother. The family and friends who gave time, and help, and money, and gifts, and prayers were there for us as well. A village does not even begin to describe it.
I have all of the get well cards that people sent, saved in a box on a shelf. I will give him those one day, when he needs it.
Opening Day is on Monday, and I'll have my usual terrible baseball predictions over the weekend. Spoiler: I might not have, for the first time since I started blogging, picked the Yankees to win the World Series.
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