One million hours

Well, that week was pretty epically crappy.

I missed three and a half days of work (I tried to go in Thursday, and by noon I zoomed out the faculty parking lot in a cloud of dust because NOPE) and Steve missed three days. Now it’s Sunday night and we’re still both kind of hollow-eyed and sniffly and rumbly-tummied. We both went to doctors, who were mystified.  Bloodwork and flu tests revealed nothing. It’s actually kind of scary when you have a slate of weird and violent symptoms and doctors just look perplexed. They sent us both home with nausea meds and a prescription for antibiotics (while noting that our problems were almost certainly viral). THANKS OBAMA.

So this weekend lasted one million hours because little kids don’t care that you’re sick. They want you to GET WITH THE PROGRAM and PLAY SOME JENGA and MAKE SOME SNACKS and BUILD SOME HOTWHEELS TRACKS. I heard a lot of “Get off the sofa, Mommy. It’s a.m., not p.m. That means it’s DAYTIME. Also, can I have some Cheez-Its?”

Anyway, we’re hopeful things are on their way back to normal (aka horribly stressful but at least familiar).




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