And then last night Ru woke up and vomited his brains out at 1 AM.
Blast. Blast. Blast.
Didn't go to my painting group today for fear I make all the painterly types ill and/or expose my own children to nursery illnesses of new varieties while their thresholds are at low ebb. Instead, I put on a Kipper the Dog video and let the boys cuddle in *Uncle Bernard's recliner while I set up shop with my brushes on the dining room table. Just because we can't eat complex starches or meats or stay hydrated doesn't mean we can't have artistic pursuits that are consistent!
I loaded up the former diaper bag with all my painting equipment just so that I can have it all ready and in one place when I'm ready to go out again. I realize that I will need a diaper bag again soon but, really folks, that's 12 weeks away and for 12 weeks, I plan to enjoy a diaper-bag-less life. No toting everything known to man in that giant heavy thing while having it slip continually off my shoulder or embarrassedly pulling out old socks and half eaten granola bars while searching for crumpled diapers I have stashed somewhere in the bottom. Just for a little while, its my painting bag, and much good may it do me.
Nutmeg, being the dearest-of-friends sort, called to check in on us and then picked up another box of Saltines, some Gatorade and a nice bundle of bananas which she handed to me quickly through the door. I, carefully grabbing the bag in a way that wouldn't possibly contaminate her, she, waving and wishing peace on our house as she closed the screen and grimaced at my wincing thanks. She's the best. I feel slightly less overwhelmed knowing that I have these sorts of people in my life, people who check in and people who really mean it when they ask if there's anything they can get while they're out. Quality stuff right there folks.
In other news...I swear, really people...either this illness has me hallucinating now or I have been hearing a lone spring peeper for about two days now in the swamp. And this afternoon I was sure I heard a robin's spring call, the kind of whinnying trill they do during soft spring rains. It was raining. Or sludging or sleeting or.... something but, at least some of the time it was rain. Maybe this is just a very serious case of spring fever, that has simply gone to all our stomachs. Am I slowly going mad?
*We always call it that. We always have. A inherited it from his deceased relative along with a giant desk our computer sits on which goes by the name, "Uncle Bernard's Desk." Creepy perhaps but, it just accidentally happened.
