So I was going to put up this post on Friday, after I came home from watching my 8-year-old nephew in his second-grade poetry recital. The kids all chose poems by African-American artists. If by “poems” you are cool with me meaning “a song by Kanye West,” in the case of my nephew and his two friends.

I attended this recital because my nephew’s mother and her partner were in divorce court. They’d asked me and his other godmother to attend in their place. It was a painful enough scenario to begin with, but the fact that my nephew’s chosen verse was a tribute to his (OK, to Kanye’s) mother made it doubly so. As the trio finished and bounded back to sit at the edge of the stage, eager to watch the next group perform, I had tears streaming down my cheeks.

I thought that would be the end to a really ragged week. One that started with Jr, then me, then my fella being struck by an intense stomach bug. One that was then marked by the seven-year-old son of friends of ours having a brain tumor removed (he is recovering OK, so far). One that later saw me, after I got back on my feet, working 11-hour days to keep up with the needs of my boss as he attended a board meeting, gave a speech,  and met with funders. Oh, and doing my own work too.

But that was not the end. On Friday, the morning of my nephew’s recital, Jr had woken up at 2:30 with a fever. He was fussy that day, and all through Friday night, and into Saturday. We took him to the doctor Saturday morning, only to discover that he had — wait for it — scarlet fever.

Really, they still make that? They do. And he has it. And luckily he has powerful antibiotics too. And we all slept through the night last night. And I recognize that things could be oh so much worse. So much. But I do hope it’s not too much to wish that this coming week is a better one.

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