That pretty much sums up my day. George has been running a fever for three days. We went to the town Street Dance Saturday night and about two hours into the evening, I found George laying down on the brick street. He was white as a ghost, and we made a quick exit (much to the dismay of the rest of the Willis Tribe). We're doing the Tylenol/Motrin dance and he's sleeping a lot. No other symptoms, so we haven't made the trek to Greenfield yet.
Mary Claire noticed at breakfast this morning that Diane, the hamster, wasn't moving. After much prodding and poking by the rest of the kids, we determined that she had, indeed, passed away in the night. George is convinced that she ran too fast on her wheel and flew off, thus hitting her head on the glass aquarium. It's a viable hypothesis. Nobody seems to be in deep mourning. Of course, they didn't hold or play with Diane much. She was The Jumper. Jack is a much more compatible playmate. Well, I guess we won't be having hamster babies any time soon. My dear husband's reply was, "one down, one to go." He's not much of a pet rodent fan.
On another note, Chris was recently named High School Principal. It was a long, grueling month of interviews and unknowns, and I managed to gain 10 pounds. Blech. But, life is looking up. We don't have to sell our worldly possessions and move to Africa (that was Plan B). After resigning from my job four months ago, I finally completed my last day last week. Chris is so passionately excited about his new position, and I'm equally as excited about staying home with the kids and writing the Great American Novel. And so we venture into the next phase of our lives...
