Now that's what I call devotion

It seems like every time I turn around lately Brookie is sick. If I had a nickel for each time she's thrown up over the last six weeks, well, I'd be buying another can of Lysol with it (lemon scented) (the BIG can).

The last time she was sick she couldn't even keep Tylenol down. Since she had a pretty high temp she was feeling extra puny. I sat by her and held a cool washcloth to her head while I stroked her hair and talked about anything I could think of to take her mind off being sick.

Things like the time my Aunt Martha was chasing my mom across the backyard (with what sounds like murder on her mind) when they ran upon a fishing line Dadpa had strung across the yard. Mom saw it and went under it. Aunt Martha didn't see it and ran full speed ahead and managed to hook herself right in her nose. That story always brings about much chuckling (from everyone but me because I love my Aunt Martha too much to ever laugh at her pain) (hi Aunt Martha!!) (Muah!).

I also told her about the time Big Mama's daughter actually got to go see Hanna Montana backstage because her mom's blog was so popular that they gave her tickets free tickets. Brookie thought that was the coolest thing ever. As I told her about it her eyes got bigger and bigger and bigger.

And I told her about the time my dad told us that scientists had finally perfected a hand that could operate on it's own, without a brain or even an arm. He talked about all the great things that hands like that would be able to help us do in this world. He then told us that unfortunately the hand was mysteriously missing and that he hoped they found it soon. We were quite enthralled by the story, but soon forgot about it and went back to playing Atari (yes, I'm old. Shut up). Later that night, when it was pitch black outside (we lived way out in the country) we heard something at the window in my brother's room where we all sat still playing Atari (hey, that Pong was addictive!). When we looked out the window we saw a white hand crawling up the screen!!!! Oh my goodness...we were scared half to death! We ran to mom's room and told her that we'd found the missing hand and that it was on the house! Then we asked where dad was...we wanted to tell him. She didn't know. Instead of figuring out that HE was the one outside the window wearing a white glove (and pantyhose on his head) we assumed the hand had killed our dad! Finally, we figured out the truth and Dad laughed so hard it's a wonder he didn't wet his pants.

After telling these and several other stories I took Brookie's temperature again and found that it was still rising (and she was still throwing up). I knew it was time for drastic measures.

A suppository.

Brookie was not at all keen on the plan. When I explained where it went she started shaking her head and she held her butt cheeks together with her hands. I knew this was not going to be easy. We ended up having to hold her down and force it in, only to find that she has the amazing ability to shoot things out of her rear. I'd put it in and she'd shoot it out. Seriously, it was astounding (and infuriating). Finally, I gave up and put her back in bed. The last thing she said to me before falling asleep was, "And don't blog about this!!"

Dang. Foiled again.

The next morning she was feeling better and kept down some toast. While eating breakfast she looked at me and said, "Mom, I've been thinking and if it will help get me Hannah Montana tickets then you can blog about my bobo shooting out medicine."

Hannah, if you're reading this, THAT is a true fan. She not only has up your posters, watches your shows, sings your songs and wears your clothes...she is willing to humiliate herself in front of tens and twelves of my blog readers just to have a shot at seeing you in concert. If that doesn't make her your number one fan, I don't know what does...

Okay, maybe it makes her your number two fan (hee hee, get it...number two???....I crack myself up...oh gosh, I said CRACK...I'm on a roll).

Although I must say that it would take a hook up my nose, a mutant hand on my window AND something bigger than a suppository shoved up my bottom to make me go to one of those concerts.

No offense.