* My day began slowly and my lungs were assholes until after dinnertime (coincidentally also when I stopped moving around).
* Work was excellent, except that every single fellow employee (probably about thirty or so?) and two customers had to ask me If I Was Okay, Did I Need Water/A Manager/Medical Care? and How Long Had I Had Asthma Like THAT? Don't get me wrong, my lungs were utter dicks and I did cough for most of the day because I won't take codeine at work, but if I had saved the breath I used up in explaining that I Wasn't Quite Dead Yet to everyone it would have been easier to power through the day (which I did, in fine style, and even garnered several compliments on my work from supervisory-types and one very nice little old lady buying flowers).
* Big Child's ear is still leaking blood and pus, and while he seems to FEEL perfectly fine this troubles him (and me). I have shamed the XY into picking him up from school to take him to the pediatrician for a re-check as my next chance at a POSSIBLE day off is Friday; perhaps this is normal with a ruptured eardrum but I seem to recall my own experience with same drying up by this point into antibiotics and would like someone with good equipment and a prescription pad hand JUST IN CASE to take a gander.
* Hotter hadn't made much progress toward dinner, because he was busy with other things, and I had fun helping him in the kitchen even in dinner was late. At least I did until Big Child began to interrogate me about dinner as he likes to do while I was carrying the Shepherd's Pie to the table, getting me so flustered (not because him questions were tough ones, but just because they were like a staccatto stream of machine-gun fire; it's a combination of developmental delay-driven angst to know about the food, ADD-fueled impulsitivity and speed, and desperation for my attention that I have banned at least once for every twice that he does it, so multiply ten years minus the two it took him to speak at all clearly by three hundred and twenty or so, to account for time I've been in hospitals or he's been with his father, THAT MANY TIMES, not that it helps to prevent a damned thing and do you see how this was all one run-on sentence, yeah, it's like THAT) that I burned all four fingertips on my left hand.
* I set dinner down intact and told everyone to stop what they were doing and be aware of the fact that Mommy Needs Five Minutes Badly and leave me alone, went into the kitchen to run my hand under cold water, declined Hotter's assistance, sent Little Child to wash his hands, told Big Child to stop wiping his face on the couch (it wasn't wet or dirty, but that's Not Acceptable Sensory-Seeking In My House And You Wouldn't Do It At School, At Least I Hope Not), refused to let Hotter see my fingers, grabbed something from the freezer to grasp, told Middle Child to Wash HIS hands, scurried into the den, turned Big Child back from following me because I needed three minutes, JUST THREE MINUTES WITHOUT ANYONE IN MY FACE STARTING NOW, told Hotter I meant him too, assured him that even though he WAS a chef and The Expert In Burnt Things it wasn't That Bad and I needed just ONE MINUTE, SERIOUSLY, ALONE, NOW, REALLY IT IS FINE IT JUST HURTS and then I got about thirty seconds of everydamnone in the house palpably sulking in my general direction and decided to call that a win.
* I then declared to my bickering children and pouting husband that we were going to have a pleasant dinner during which we would voice nothing but positive thoughts about each other and words of appreciation about our delicious meal that we were fortunate enough to be eating together as a family, and I must have REALLY had The Crazy Prednisone Eye because I only had to warn everyone at the table (except Big Child, who loves black-and-white rules like a fat kid loves cake and was cheerful and correct enough to irritate the bejesus out of everyone else) once apiece that they were "dangerously close to non-appreciation" and say to Middly ONCE that I knew I was only hallucinating from a long day at work and he wasn't REALLY chewing on his shirt because Six-Year-Olds-Do-Not-Do-That and I knew that when I turned back around his shirt would not be anywhere between his teeth SEE THAT'S MY GOOD BOY!
* I did a bit of after-dinner-and-bedtime-for-children candling, and of thirteen MFA Eggs currently incubating, there are eight yeses, three maybe-could-go-either-ways, and two "looks-like-a-no-to-me-but-I'm-no-expert-yet-so-we'll-reevaluate-in-two-days"es. Hotter has been turning the babies eggs diligently, perhaps because I text him to the point that he's utterly sick of it to ask after them every day.
* Every effing bone in my body, the fingertips of my left hand, my leg muscles, and my lungs hurt. Also my skin where my pants rest because my Prednisone Baby is nearly big enough that old ladies have started to guess gender based on how I'm carrying it. I'm going to bed.
* How are all of you? I do check comments throughout the day from my Blackberry, which seems to be acceptable workplace behavior at The Botanical Garden (probably the Damn Kids there are mostly texting, actually, who knows--Phone-Looking Is Cool) and they all make me smile (Mary Dell, you in particular are a fount of useful information! Zyrtec makes me speedy as hell and I think I might gnash every remaining tooth out of my head if I mixed it with Prednisone so I take Claritin, or rather Generic Cheapo-Store Brand Loratadine but I did not know about the tooth-spackle!). Tell me about YOUR day, it'll either make me feel better that it isn't mine or distract me from my own mishegas.