We've all been sick. I didn't understand the full importance of that sentence until I had children. It used to be that I got sick, and I hunkered down miserably on the sofa under a pile of blankets for a few days, and didn't talk to anyone, and ate only what I wanted (even if that meant only ice cream), and then I felt better. That was what sick used to mean to me. I now have children, and sick will never be the same. Now when I'm sick, little people insist on being fed (actual food!), and having clean clothes, and maybe a ride to school. And then they get sick, and things get really exciting.
It all began about 3 weeks ago. I can't even blame it on the kids, because somehow I came home with it. It's one of those bugs that just sucks the life out of you, and you want to just sleep all day, but for some reason you can't, and when you try to eat everything tastes like cardboard, but for some totally perverse reason you don't even lose any weight (the only positive thing about being sick that I've ever found). Several days later, Big Trouble caught the thing, followed by my husband. We all thought that Miss Serious made it out safely, and then she finally succumbed. After a whirlwind of fun involving fevers, sore throats, coughing, croup, vomiting, more coughing, and general all-around crankiness, I think the plague is gone. However, supposed well-meaning people keep telling me that it loops around again - not sure how this information is supposed to help me, and I have to physically restrain myself from smacking the above mentioned helpful folks.
But at least we have our health.