Sharp edges

Monday afternoon, I walked into my room to tell Mr W I was heading out and who was coming with me.  It helps us both to do an occasional head count.

"Ben and Ryan are coming along, and I'm running by Costco first, Ben's wants a hot dog--he's wasting away."  I added.

"Tell Ben to shut up,"  Nolan said, "this..." he pulls down his waistband, exposing a jutting hip bone "..is wasting away."   Mr W and I cracked up, and exchanged a little look of relief, that the boy must be feeling more like himself if he can crack jokes.

Later that evening, I heard the three boys laughing as they came down the hall.  Ben says to me, "Mom, I'm gonna play my trombone and Nolan's gonna play his bass clarinet," he said, pausing for a giggle, "and in the middle of it, Nolan will pull up his shirt and play a xylophone solo," he gestured, pretend mallets playing his ribs.

You can always count on your family.....

It is difficult to see Nolan laying around the house like an emaciated stray cat.  I've started taking him out on little jaunts, mainly to get him to walk around a bit and hopefully, stimulate his appetite some.

He does get tired, but not in the "I'm sleepy" sense, more like the "I just ran a marathon" sense.  We wandered around in Barnes and Noble yesterday so he could get a book for school, and met his Dad for lunch; after that, we had to come home.  I figure I'll take him out a little each day, because he is understandably stir crazy and needs the exercise. 

He shuffles like an old man, but we manage. 

I get nervous that he's walking behind me, and he tries not to roll his eyes at my hovering. 

He's eaten more today than he has all week, and I find that reassuring.  I think he's feeling better.

Which means I feel better, too.