Justin is out of bed and back to himself. We are buckets full of grateful.
Our sweet friend brings her dog for a little pet therapy. Justin is perked up and Nicky wants to keep him. We make chocolate chip cookies for everyone but, mostly Michael, because they’re his favorite. And because I ALWAYS make food for Justin and NEVER make anything for him. I stick my face in cookie dough over this unbelievably false, hyperbolic statement. Justin is in our dining room classroom, back to work on math, phonics and a story about Pocahontas. Justin makes grilled cheese for daddy with a little help. Because last night he insists he’s going to start doing thing himself “like a twenty-year-old does.” Be still my heart. Thank you for faithful prayers. Grace be with you.