02 November 2009


My children were recovering from their first bout of sickness of the season, and after twenty-four hours without appetite, they began to exhibit signs of hunger. To capitalize on this, I made pizza for dinner. It's relatively gentle, and one of the rare things that everyone agrees on.

Toward the end of the meal, Sacha's plate was littered with crusts, not unlike the bones of a small mammal's carcass picked clean. 

“More, PLEASE!” he demanded.

“Sacha, you know, you can eat those crusts.”  David responded.

“Okay,” Sacha replied, and picked a crust and proceeded to eat it.

Just like that. No argument, no protest, no screaming.

And this is how I knew that he was not quite back to himself. Because under normal circumstances, there is NO WAY he would acquiesce so readily without putting up a fight.

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