As a self-professed do-er of everything, it really sucks when a week comes along and metaphorically kicks you in the nuts.
Oliver brought the stomach flu home 190-ish hours ago (I’m totally not counting though). Right now, I’m the only one still really sick. Who gets sick for a solid week with the stomach flu? And not just a little bit sick – like most nights water and I still can’t even be friends. With three kids under the age of six, all who have also been sick to varying degrees, for varying lengths of time, this really f-ing sucks.
I had such big plans last week for new blog posts (you guys still haven’t seen that three cheese corn cappelletti yet!), and for new cakes (Mama Dorosch is making a return with her hazelnut cake). I had flowers to plant in the backyard that have died, trips to make with the kids that have been postponed, a day at wonderland with friends cancelled, and on top of it all, I had to suck it up and make an (awesome) movie night at home snack using blue cheese, which would have been awesome, if I hadn’t had the stomach flu (blue cheese has to be the worst one possible to cook with while gagging).
And so, I sit and vent. Two kids watching a movie upstairs (because they’re the best), the baby, still a little sick herself, keeps climbing up on everything and crashing into tables (she’s not really the best today). Dinner is in varying states of who-am-I-kidding-I-haven’t-even-started-ness, and if something doesn’t catch fire soon so that I have to get off my ass it might stay that way.
Alright, that’s probably enough whining for one afternoon. Crap, it’s 5:30, we’re solidly into “night” territory now. I wonder how sick I should sound when I call Bo asking him to bring dinner home with him. Cough. LOVE YOU BO.