The Return Of The Dark Plague

On Tuesday, it was eighty degrees here in Small Town, which made us all want to crank our underground sprinklers on and eat grilled hamburgers outside on our decks.

On Wednesday, it was twenty degrees (with that windchill).  It snowed and rained, rained and snowed, and blew wind like we lived in a tornado belt.  There was indoor recess at school, because we’re of the notion that kids who aren’t soaked with freezing rain and chilled by strong winds will function better during math class.  I played dodgeball in the gym during recess.  The kindergartners and 4th graders took on 1st, 2nd and 3rd grades, and I’m here to tell you that the cheating was as thick as a good wildfire tends to be.  It was exactly like True Pandemonium in my gym, because FIFTY-SIX KIDS IN ONE GAME OF DODGEBALL!!  The art teacher walked through the gym and whispered in my ear, “I have a blender in the art room for paper mache projects.  With a little soap and water, we could be in the business of making margaritas in six minutes.”

It was extremely tempting, but I think the school board actually frowns on margaritas before 3 pm.

With the onset of winter weather again, I managed to catch a Level 9 Chest Cold.  I came home from work yesterday, chilled to the bone.  I was coughing like a performing seal at Sea World, and I couldn’t hear out of my ears.  (Whether that was from the pressure of drainage or the result of indoor recess still remains to be seen.)  I walked in our front door at 4:00 yesterday afternoon, pushed the button to start a fire in our fireplace, and set up camp on my sofa for the rest of the night.

(Yes.  We can build a fire with the push of a button.  It’s what gas and modern technology have brought to us, and I’m ON BOARD and SAILING STRONG with it.  Hubs thinks it’s completely un-manly.  He thinks fires should only be started with logs and crumpled paper and pine needles and calloused hands and unreliable matches.  However, he wasted no time at all last night setting up his own base camp in the living room, in front of the blaze, so I think he’s come to accept that girly fires are just as wonderful as the ones Jedediah Smith built.)

Instead of the post-indoor-recess margaritas, I enjoyed a NyQuil nightcap last night, and went to bed, coughing up a lung.  Thing 2… BLESS!!  HIS!!  HEART!!… slept straight through the night, in an act of compassion for his sick mama.  This was nothing short of a miracle, because our THREE-YEAR-OLD is still not a reliable sleeper.

When the boy got out of bed at 6:30 this morning, he walked into my bedroom and coughed up his own lung on my floor, as he announced, “I think I’m sick.”

I wiped our calendar plum clean for today, which was a genuine shame, as I had two (!!) coffee dates scheduled.  Because?  Coffee twice?  In one day?  With two different friends?  Yes, please; I’ll take it.  The boy missed his soccer game, because I couldn’t envision him running down the field, while he sounded like a barking seal.  I put corn chowder in the crockpot this morning, because SOUP!  It’s the food of the sick soul.

And that, people, is how our home has become infiltrated with yet another round of the Dark Plague.  So far, Hubs and that cute toddler of ours are hanging on as the healthy half of our family, while the boy and I have spent the afternoon together, sitting under blankets in front of the fireplace and sipping tea like a couple of elderly nursing home residents.

And then Hubs came home and asked us if we were burning up the baby robin eggs outside, because IS THERE ANOTHER NEST ON THE FIREPLACE EXHAUST VENT?  Let me tell you, I felt like a baby bird killer, because I had plum forgotten that a family of robins has built a nest on that fireplace exhaust portal every spring for the last several years.  I was sick with dread, as I envisioned little, blue hard-boiled eggs and a tearful set of robin parents with broken hearts.  It was with a heavy heart that I went outside to peek, and GLORY, GLORY, HALLELUJAH!  Hubs removed the nest over the winter, with some hopes that the birds would find a safer address to raise their family, and it must’ve worked.  Our fireplace exhaust vent was nest-free, and I feel liberated from a horrible crime.

Anyway, if you need us, we’ll be over here at our house, under the influence of NyQuil and essential oils… or at least HALF OF US will be.  Have a merry weekend, and stay healthy.

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