Oh... J

Todd is not feeling well. Why is Todd not feeling well? His job is too stressful. He doesn't sleep. He travels too much. He has the world's home improvement projects on his shoulders. And, he has three children who bring home every germy germ they pick up around town.

Since he has to go on another trip this week, he is trying Todd's Foolproof Get Well Quickly method: Pump your body so full of vitamin C that you turn orange and develop a rind. About 11:30 last night (well past my prime time,) he started demanding, "Don't we have any orange juice around here?!" I try to buy orange juice only as a special treat; though the kids love it, the acidic citrus aggravates their various minor medical ailments. I said I had not purchased orange juice lately, but he could probably find a can of concentrate in the freezer.

Todd proceeded to stomp around the kitchen, making more noise than our herd of children on Christmas morning. He was opening drawers and slamming cabinet doors over and over and over again. This went on for, literally, 15 minutes. At one point, I called down the stairs, "What are you doing?" He shot back accusingly, "Looking for a pitcher! Don't we have a pitcher?!" I decided not to add to the ruckus with a screaming match and hightailed it back to bed.

This morning, while the girls and I were getting breakfast, Elisabeth opened the fridge and lugged out a rectangular Tupperware container half-full of... orange juice. "Careful with that," I said. "Looks like Daddy made orange juice." She looked at me like I was insane, but still pleaded for some. I carefully devised a way to pour out a couple inches without making Lake OJ and she sat down to her toast. Some time later, Libby said, "You know, that is the most delicious orange juice I've ever tasted." I rolled my eyes and muttered, "Of course it is. It is the best because Daddy made it." She continued creating crumbs while I emptied the dishwasher. After breakfast, Libby assured me, "Mommy, you make the second best orange juice in the world."