In Which Uncle Damon, SLB, and I Throw Fists Like John Bender

Livy had a rough day today and an especially difficult evening.  She's sick and running a low-grade fever that just serves to damper any fun she can work up the energy to seek.  Her nap was ruined by a sweaty, febrile nightmare.  She accidentally misjudged her depth when eating a carrot at dinner and bit her finger, which was so painful and upsetting that it caused her to throw up her last bite.  Dinner ended with her curled up under a blanket on the couch, weeping and clutching an ice pack to her finger and a lovey to her chest.

It was tragic.  My heart ached for her sick, sad, tired sorrow, and I figured we were headed to an early bedtime.  It's hard to come back after a few hours that challenging when you're 3 1/2 and sick, and I wouldn't have begrudged her an evening of limp snuggles on the couch.

Then, weakly and sadly, she asked if she could sit on my lap and watch a video on the computer.  I said yes, cuddled her close, brought up YouTube, and asked her what she wanted to watch.  I thought it might be The Sweptaways' "Oh My Darlin' Clementine," or maybe Mike Doughty's "Madeline and Nine," but she shocked  and delighted me with her completely badass request.

Can you even begin to guess what she asked for, friends, after months of not watching it?  Do you know which video called out to her from the wide breadth of her media consumption?  Do you know what she said that made me laugh out loud with surprised delight and pride?  DO YOU KNOW WHAT SHE SAID?

"Rocky."  She said "Rocky," and I fell in love anew with my resilient little warrior beast child.  So we snuggled, and I stroked her hair while we were reborn with Rocky's every triumphant step.

Good on ya, Rock.  Good on ya, Liv.  Gonna fly, indeed.