My son is Spiderman

Today Caleb is wearing his Spiderman outfit. He has been wearing it since Halloween. I was looking back at all the pictures I've taken of him. If the picture is taken at home, he is wearing that stupid costume, unless he is wearing his Spiderman Pajamas. He insists that we refer to him as Spiderman, I keep wondering if this is how schizophenia begins--with parents willing to indulge their child's hero complexes.

I've been feeling under the weather. I caught his virus. But my kids are back at full force. It would probably be easier if we were all sick at the same time. That being said, I'm not running a high temperature. But when I breath I sound like Darth Vader. Now I know why he turned to the dark side. If I constantly felt as though I were breathing and speaking into a metal coffee can; I might take out my frustration and anger on cute little ewoks as well.

Caleb has done all he can. He "shot" me four times with his laser. Each time he told me that I was not dead, so I could not just lay still . . . monitoring my breathing . . . with eyes closed. I had to emit a low moaning sound. Caleb coached me on exactly the sound I was supposed to make--sort of like a cow that is having trouble while calving, but one that is some distance away. I tried at first to sound like Scarlet O'Hara when she was sick or having a bad dream, but this, according to Caleb, was the wrong sound.

After the forth "shot" he quit being the bad guy and pretended to be a doctor. He wiped my arm with a cloth, put a band-aid on it and said, "Now you are all better. Stop making that sound."

And since I did so well and did not cry he gave me a whale sticker to put on my shirt.