Our Den of Slack

We've been pretty under the weather here in my little abode. Ewan started it earlier in the week with a mild fever and "hurting in the top of my mouth." Of course, as soon as he gets better, Bryce and I are up all one night with the scratchy throat, beginning coughs and exploding head feeling. Then Fynn had a fever last night that climbed to 102.5. I was up from 1:00 am until 3:30 am with him. He was quite chipper and ready to play for someone so feverish. But then he'd drop his head on my shoulder and just be completely still for twenty minutes before he started "bla bla" and "ga-goo" and then he'd pop back up ready for some more entertainment. Then this morning, Bryce threw up. In my nice bathroom trashcan. (I know, really, who cares, a trashcan? But it's pretty and brushed silver and was a wedding present. But as I think of it, does anyone really want a trashcan as a wedding present? Yet, I registered for it...and doesn't everyone? Really kind of odd when you think about it.) And I don't clean up barf that didn't come out of my children, so I said to him, "I'm sorry, I just can't do it. As soon as you feel better, please do what you can." I was amused to see him come through the living room with the entire trashcan in his hands, and toss it into our big trashcan in the garage. I was somehow O.K. with that. We're pretty sure it was food poisoning. So I was on full duty today, although I was allowed to sleep in with Fynn until 9:00, being before the barfing incident and all. Nevertheless, I'm pooped. The fact that it is 10:37 and I'm heading right to bed is extraordinary. Hopefully we'll all get some rest so I can go buy a new trashcan tomorrow. But, as I am typing this, I hear my bittiest one crying out. I find myself humming the chorus to "Come, Come Ye Saints" in an attempt to assure myself that "all is well." Good night, all. You know, all 12 of you.