The fever is finally gone, knock on wood, or more exactly to the point, whatever material that makes up the wall behind our bed. David and I took turns the last couple of nights sitting propped up against that wall with Austin sleeping on our bellies. In reality, sleeping like that is kind of peaceful, if you can ignore the sharp pains that start to form in the back and neck.

Work has been work-y and home has been home-y, although we are going to have to start packing soon because we are moving. Yes that's right, the Choogler will almost have his own pad, if you discount the cats and the parents, but not his own room, something that probably won't bother him until he really gets going on that novel he's been talking about writing. We will be staying in the same neighborhood so Austin won't have to learn about any new kitties or doggies or old ladies that wave at him while they pause halfway up our hill for a breather. Oh, and special note to Tracey, the kitty that lives in the restaurant wholesale shop down the street is alive and well....I actually asked the people who worked there.

Austin is walking a lot now, it's becoming his preferred mode of transportation unless he needs to get away real fast. For example, if Austin wants to see what's on the other side of the bed, he will try walking. If the boy sees the lifesize (to Austin) E.T. toy we have in the hall right now, Austin quicky drops to all fours and crawls to a safe distance where he can stare intently at the thing. I cannot imagine just what he thinks that is as his idea of popular culture right now consists of older drunk Bohemians/ Italians/ tourists at Cafe Trieste and the pleasant, mindless droning of NPR that is consistently playing in our house. Maybe he thinks E.T. is an elderly drunk Italian in our living room, or perhaps Terry Gross.