Sweet Babou and I have a horrible, not-quite-flu cold which has left my head full of concrete that is apparently being chiseled out by a small dwarf to with a jackhammer (based on the pain in my skull). I have also blown my nose so hard that I have busted out an eardrum. I feel peachy.
Worse, poor little Baby Spock got a tummy virus over the weekend and turned the house into Night of the Living Yurk. She was not pleased with this development what so ever. Whenever we would ask her if she needed to throw up she would respond by saying, “NO FANK YOU! I DON’T WANNA FROW UP!” She was somehow under the impression that we were offering a choice of whether or not to puke. Then, when she did barf, she was livid that some asshat had made her hurl. All vomiting was thus accompanied by the patented Spock Rage Dance, which was both heartbreakingly pitiful and super-cute at the same time.
There is a LOT of laundry going on at my house, but at least she feels better. Sweet Babou and I are still being slaughtered by this hella-cold, however. For the present I am mainly staggering around saying “blerg” at intervals and trying to keep the kids (who have no school because of MLK day) fed and watered. My Sweet Babou bravely went to work because they absolutely need him in the office today. We both suspect the most productive thing he will be able to do today is to involuntarily infect all his co-workers with this evil virus.