On father's day, Boyfriend's family had grilled pork chops and ribs for dinner. This was also the night that Sev was very, very sick with a wicked fever.
I was about ready to go to bed, and Seven was due for another round of Tylenol for her fever. I gently tried to wake her to have her sit up so I could take her temperature. She sat up a little bit and had the thermometer in her mouth before she spit it out, stuck her thumb back in, rolled over, and tried going back to sleep. I tried coaxing her into taking her temperature. She covered her head with her blankie. From under her blanket, I heard,
"No. I don't want a cork-chop."
Kid must have been dreaming about pork chops.
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