Have you ever had one of those mornings? You know, the kind where you wake up and everything is wrong? The kind where you feel ill but you can't describe it? When I complain of having this kind of malaise, my wife usually says, "Oh, you have your non-specific illness thing again?" That pretty well describes it. My three-year-old son, Marcus, however, has a different way to describes these feelings: Ankle Foot.
About once or twice a week, he'll wake up in a crabby mood. He'll complain about this thing and that thing, and when asked what's wrong, he'll say in a very raspy complainy-kind-of-voice, "I have Ankle Foot...." To which his mother and I exchange humorous glances and respond with something like, "Oh, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?"
So, my Non-specific Illness is his Ankle Foot. From now on, however, I'm changing my term to his. "What's wrong dear?" Jen will ask.
"I don't feel well. I think I'll stay home today."
"Really, what's going on with you?"
"I have Ankle Foot."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?"
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