Three days before we were supposed to travel to Utah for Christmas, I got sick.
Two days before, I was sick enough that my husband stayed home from work to take care of the kids.
One day before, we suspected Babs was getting a fever.
The day of, she had one.
So we did what any irrational family would do: we medicated her, got on the plane and went.
Here was my reasoning: there are plenty of germs on the plane, I can do my best to keep mine to myself. Babs' fevers are not a risk to any one else. If I can just get them to Grandma, then she can take care of these kids, and I can sleep.
And that's exactly what happened. I rested, and somewhat healed, while the girls played and played and played with family.
We got home, and within a week, my husband got sick.
We are functioning, but I'll tell you what, catching up on my last month's activities on my blog/journal is pretty low on my list... Actually it's relatively high, but feeding my kids, and cleaning up the dishes, and resting, rank higher. Truly, those three things are about all that's getting done around here.
But maybe, I'll vacuum tomorrow.
