Oh, my. We've got it here, the gomboo. Fever, chills, headache, cough. I know we're kind of late to the flu party but here we are! Is there still any guacamole left? (Ugh, cancel that. Guacamole is the last thing we need at this moment. How about popsicles?)
We're all in our beds (everyone but G and Maddy), a coughing chorus of germ hosts. Books, check. Water, check. Pillows with the cool side a turn away, check. Rest time, check.
Sam, the sickest among us, groans in his sleep with every exhale, a faint little oh with every breath as he naps on the sofa. Lauren feels fine but can't shake the fever--she's been watching movies and texting and seems full of ideas, asking to go for Wendy's frosties/subway sandwiches/movie rentals/driving practice. I'm being a little productive in a slow motion, fuzzy kind of way with lots of forehead checks and drink fetching and temperature taking for the other patients. We will survive.
Finger crossed G doesn't get it. He leaves for Paris on business at the end of the week. (Here, France, is our little hostess gift to you: the gomboo.)
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Grateful for: 1. the skylight in my bedroom with the view of the tenacious yellow leaves 2. duvets 3. advil to bring down fevers
