Migraines and Oreos

When I was little, I used to get a lot of migraines. In fact, any combination of spending time out in the sun, playing hard, not eating well or drinking enough water meant a guaranteed migraine. Which happened pretty often, particularly when we lived in Kuwait and outside recess was my favorite subject, four square was the best game ever and a bag of chips was a suitable lunch. 

I would come home from school and throw myself on the floor, writhe in pain and scream until my dad got home. He would take me into a cool, dark room, sit next to the bed and tickle my back until I fell asleep. The best migraine advice he ever gave me? Don't move a muscle. Get comfortable and stay very, very still until you fall asleep. It seems impossible, but always does the trick for me. 

Anyways, fast forward to a sunny day in Tucson. A play date at the splash pad. A popsicle for lunch, no time for a sandwich. A skipped nap and a time out for swinging a baseball bat at Ike. That headache that Booker's been complaining about since this morning has morphed into a BIG UGLY MIGRAINE. Booker's very first! Welcome to the family, son- you're officially a Tueller. 

He finally passed out on the couch after screaming bloody murder for 15 minutes straight. Rolling around, twisting, turning, falling over, digging his face into the cushions for any kind of relief. Begging for band-aids only to rip them off as soon as I put them on his forehead (I'm pretty sure Ike swallowed one, should I be worried about that?) I finally had to grab him and hold him in a bear hug until he fell asleep. And then, because my dad used to do it for me, I sat and tickled his back even though he was comatose and drooling at this point. Sigh. I hope this doesn't happen regularly. 

And another first- Ike's first Oreo. I had to give him something to keep him occupied while I was wrestling with Booker.