Ugh. What a useless waste of time this whole flu thing has been. I mean, what's the point of being sick if you feel too horrible to do all the fun stuff you do when you're sick, like reading trashy romance novels, catching up on Downton Abbey and Project Runway, and indulging in daytime sleep?
Back on Monday, when Will was the only one afflicted and I was still relatively well-rested and in the mood to be kind to people, I was fairly productive. Dishes were washed and put away, jobs applied for, laundry folded, and even a floor was scrubbed. But that all changed around midnight Monday/Tuesday. Fever, chills, and my head being stuck in a giant invisible nutcracker turned me into a zombie with no feelings other than self-preservation.
Tuesday, Will was home again with me, and we both felt crummy so we slept and took it easy all day. Mike and Sarah were still feeling good at this point, so Mike played Mr. Mom while I lay down and stared at the ceiling fan for awhile (it hurt waaaay too much to blink). I still don't know why this pastime is all the rage among infants.
The next thing I know, we're being awakened by tornado sirens and a frightened child. Mike gathered the littles into our bed and we watched the news until the power went out. Nope, we didn't go down to the basement like we're supposed to. Once the power went out, everybody started fighting about who slept next to Daddy and how much cover to be under, and I kept getting kneed in the rear-end. So, sirens still going and all, I went to my safe place: the couch in the den. Surrounded by 4 windows and two French doors. Best sleep I've gotten this week.
One unexpectedly positive side-effect of being under quarantine: workmen can't get away from us fast enough. Mike made an appointment for some contractor or something to come by and check out our house this morning. The very mention of the flu made that manly-man turn tail and run, as if I'd said "bubonic plague".