Written yesterday, but not published in time due to…general delinquence. Feeling much better today…in spirit, that is.
On this, the 11th day of The Flu in our house, I finally (and rather ungraciously) admit defeat. I concede to the sheer persistence of day after day after day after day after day of familial oppression. And today I find no strength to meet my trials here.
If I had more time available to fritter in literary pursuits, I might compose an Ode to a Baby Who Used to Sleep Through the Night. Or a treatise on why we are encouraged to use antibacterial wash for a flu virus. (Even the doctor couldn’t explain that one). Or perhaps I would explain my occasional wish for the existence of an Outside Agency for Parental Affirmation in Times of Trial.
These days have made me realize anew how hard won is the ability to coordinate a family’s schedule to include fruits and vegetables and to not include hours of convenient technological babysitters. But in times of survival, you gotta do what you gotta do.
So allow me these few moments to just whine a little bit–I’ve been such a good girl for days on end and now I’m just feeling the need to scrape the bottom so that I can starting heading back up again.
Remind next time not to have a thyroid imbalance -induced Existential Crisis when my family is down with the flu. Spectacularly bad timing.
However, it is lovely to have my husband do so much of the housework. I get a clean washcloth out of the cupboard and think “HE LOVES ME!”. I find clean clothes in my drawer and think “HE LOVES ME!” I wash my hands at a clean sink and think “HE LOVES ME!” Roses are red, violets are blue, flowers are nice, but housework shows me your love is true. HAha.
So, I think I’ll go wallow a bit and then find some courage to make plans for Sabbath. We are NOT having another Sabbath like last week’s…that was totally lame.
And I think I’ll save panicking over my soon-to-arrive brother-in-law’s visit for Monday. Yes, Monday.