I had the awesomest time yesterday. My godson Calvin turned four. We went to Happy Joe's, for you non-midwesterners, that's like Chuck E. Cheese except on a much smaller scale and way better pizza. I bought him baseball gear: a glove, ball, and bat - he had the bat out and swinging it around. I figure with an arm like he has, we should at least find out if he's interested in playing. The kid schooled me in Skee Ball. He got at least six 50's, one 100, and was regularly hitting 30's and 40's. He's FOUR! As part of our winnings, we got rubber vampire teeth, and when I ran out of money, I spent the rest of the evening chasing him around, growling at him. He loves being chased. "Chase me! Chase me!" I love that kid.

I had to get my blood drawn this morning, and I'm still feeling a little woozy and chilled. I hate getting my blood drawn. For one, I'm squeamish about that stuff and for two, I always feel like crap afterwards. It's why I don't give blood. Imagine how I would feel if they took a whole pint instead of a little vial. I have to go back in for another test Monday, which will pretty much take up the day. Why do these things always seem to happen during tax season when I can least afford the time? The doctor says it's probably something that can be cleared up pretty easily, but they just have to make sure, since my symptoms are kinda vague. The hypochondriac in me was very glad to have the reassurance, though the 'what ifs' still like to play in my head.