By that I mean, of course, that we have passed out of Ordinary Time for a while. I am also relieved to say that those of us who spent the last two days feeling miserably ill are now feeling much better. Jane is eating breakfast as I type. I am thinking I might make so bold as to attempt a small meal myself. Ash Wednesday is a fast day, but I spent the past two days involuntarily fasting, and methinks this is a time when duty (to my own health and that of the baby I am carrying) must trump sacrifice. (Children and pregnant women are exempt from full-fledged fasting anyway.)
Fat Tuesday was not terribly fat around here, unless you count the obese pile of laundry in my bathroom…Did I mention our washing machine broke on Sunday, the day before I got sick? The Sears guy comes tomorrow. In the meantime, good pal Lisa has offered to do a load or two if necessary.
While I was under quarantine, Wonderboy learned to say “elbow” and “foot.” Jane memorized the various types of identifiable fingerprint markings such as loops, arches, tents, and whorls (which she demonstrated for me by tracing them in the dust on my nightstand lamp—shh, don’t tell Flylady). Rose read Daddy’s new book to Beanie. Scott poured endless glasses of Gatorade, gave numerous backrubs, fed those members of the family who retained their appetites, and kept things humming along so that I was hardly missed. Well, he might have missed me a little. He certainly missed a great deal of sleep. And two days of work.
We are now bracing for the inevitable second wave of the plague: there are still four members of this family who have not yet been struck. With luck, the Sears guy will have nursed our washer back to health before the next onslaught.
The Last Regular Day
A Wave of Understanding
Thank Goodness She Warned Me