There has been far too much vomiting, aching, moaning and gnashing of teeth at my house this week. One after another this hateful plague hit each of us. For the first half of the week, I did laundry, regularly soaped up and scalded my hands, and fought the good fight. Occasionally I'd recoil after touching an apparently innocuous household object, and suspiciously ask the nearest sick person, "Did you touch this, breathe on this, or lick this?" Without waiting for a reply, I'd chuck it into the closest sink or laundry basket to be washed. I was slightly maniacal, but I was healthy... until Wednesday evening.
On Wednesday afternoon I left my dying husband at home in bed with a seven year old who swore she would look after him while I was gone. Then I took my oldest daughter and the tag-along toddler with a mad case of cabin fever to Urgent Care where it was confirmed that, on top of a raunchy stomach virus, my daughter Emma also had Strep throat. I pulled on my Wonder Woman underpants, and took that grouchy lot to the nearest pharmacy for antibiotics and Popsicles. (We also came home with bandages and cherry flavored throat lozenges since my two year old opened up their packages and scattered the contents all over aisle 7.) Back at home I made dinner, did all of the dishes, read bedtime stories and tucked a few people into bed. I tried to ignore the nasty rumbling feeling in my stomach.
Then it all caught up with me. I think the fact that I had already seen everyone else through it made it even worse since I could keenly anticipate the next horrible symptom that was on the horizon as the virus progressed. You've all been there, so I won't describe for you how dismal it is to be ill.
On a positive note, after a long week, we all seem to be pulling our way out of it. This was most obvious yesterday morning when I came into the kitchen to discover that my husband had pulled out the griddle and was taking pancake requests. My two-year-old's voice must have been the loudest and most compelling because this weekend's pancakes looked like this...
On Wednesday afternoon I left my dying husband at home in bed with a seven year old who swore she would look after him while I was gone. Then I took my oldest daughter and the tag-along toddler with a mad case of cabin fever to Urgent Care where it was confirmed that, on top of a raunchy stomach virus, my daughter Emma also had Strep throat. I pulled on my Wonder Woman underpants, and took that grouchy lot to the nearest pharmacy for antibiotics and Popsicles. (We also came home with bandages and cherry flavored throat lozenges since my two year old opened up their packages and scattered the contents all over aisle 7.) Back at home I made dinner, did all of the dishes, read bedtime stories and tucked a few people into bed. I tried to ignore the nasty rumbling feeling in my stomach.
Then it all caught up with me. I think the fact that I had already seen everyone else through it made it even worse since I could keenly anticipate the next horrible symptom that was on the horizon as the virus progressed. You've all been there, so I won't describe for you how dismal it is to be ill.
On a positive note, after a long week, we all seem to be pulling our way out of it. This was most obvious yesterday morning when I came into the kitchen to discover that my husband had pulled out the griddle and was taking pancake requests. My two-year-old's voice must have been the loudest and most compelling because this weekend's pancakes looked like this...
"P" is for pancake; that's good enough for me.
I am the official pancake photographer since I can't ever seem to get excited about eating them.
To be clear I am the ONLY one who doesn't find Dad's colorful breakfast appetizing.
And while no one was paying attention, my daughter Sophie made a pancake resembling her favorite Saturday morning character...
...Dad!
Stay well, my friends!
Love,
Meredith
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