First, right up front, at the VERY TOP, I have to say: My husband rocks. Because a lesser man would have been calling me at the hotel at 1:20 in the morning, when Boo Bug began vomiting.
Again with the flu in the Den.
And people laugh at me and my antibacterial scrubbing of every surface I can reach. Yes, the child was vomiting at 1:20. And 1:50. And…well, you get the idea.
Not only did he not call me about it then, he didn’t call me about it now. It was only when I neurotically checked up on the Denizens because of my inflated sense of self-importance which insists that if I am away from the Den for even TWO SECONDS it will spontaneously combust touched base this morning that he told me about the renewed flu symptoms.
My very first thought was, “How fast can I gather my @*^&@ and hie my patookis back home?”
My second thought was, “WAH!”
By the time my husband and I had finished discussing symptoms, I finally decided I would just…ask. Ask the man. Does he want me to come home?
And I told myself, FIRMLY, that I would TRUST HIS ANSWER. In other words, when he said, “No! Don’t be silly! I can handle it!”, instead of deciding that what he meant was “Dear God YES! Please-please-please come home I’M BEGGING YOU I can’t handle this Waaaaaaaah!”, I’d just go with what he said.
And what he said was, “Of course not. In fact, I’m glad you’re already there so you can’t cancel the trip!”
There are many men who could not be this stalwart under these circumstances. Consider people, he is not only dealing with a vomiting five year old, he is dealing with a vomiting five year old and a two year old and a six year old and an eight year old, with running to and from daycare and everything.
A lesser man would have jumped on the chance to have me come home.
Meanwhile, in other news, I woke up with a terrible, throbbing, pounding, nasty, rotten, no-good headache.
And I have apparently swallowed a rather large and pissed off cat, which is trying to claw its way out of my throat.
@*^&@!!!! This is the Cold That Would Not Die, people! And it likes to magically reappear whenever I’m on the verge of relaxation. I am severely irked.
Also, I forgot the power supply for my laptop, which is going to FORCE me to actually take the weekend AND much of today off (unless I run to a computer supply place and pick up another power supply, which I might just do because of that over-inflated sense of self-importance I do have quite a few things I was hoping to work on this weekend.
When not working on this:
Wow. Is that not one of the WORST pictures, ever? Well, see, the main light in the room burned out so I’ve got these little side-table lamps, but really…their light is not so very good. And also I didn’t bring the camera, so I’m taking pictures with my Treo. Whiiiiich really isn’t the best digital picture-taker in the universe, but oh well, there it is.
Another example of bad photography:
Doesn’t that look like a disgusting place to sit? Does that not make you feel like you’d have to go bathe your butt after using it? It isn’t. It’s actually quite comfy and nice. But between poor camera quality and worse lighting, it looks like I’m staying in the Dark Hole of Calcutta rather than a pretty darned nice suite. (Yeah. Suite. I feel so richy-rich.)
Hokay. And with that, I’m off. In search of a Starbucks, a Frye’s Electronics (power trip supply), and if I happen to stumble into, say, the Stitches marketplace, wellllll, c’est la vie, non?
My favourite toy
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