With a steady rain pattering outside, we have had a pajama-wearing, couch-lounging, movie-watching sick day inside. Yesterday was much the same, except that it was suffused with sunshine and I took the two (apparently) healthiest outside to read books on a blanket while C was sleeping on the couch.
The sunlight warmed our backs and glinted off our pile of library books. E was chipper and B was attentive, but his head slowly lowered…
His sister rubbed his back assiduously (he wailed, “Not so HARD!”) but this is the best picture I could catch of her ministrations:
Here is the look that should have warned me it was time to go back in the house:
A few minutes later we were inside again and that sheet was in the wash.
When Daddy came home, the little sickies had (a very small) dinner in front of a movie. (They’ve been watching a ruinous amount of Netflix…we’ll have to detox when everyone’s better.)
Today they are eating more and getting up to play, so I hope we are on the mend. Washing nasty laundry felt way too familiar. Was it actually three months ago that I spent hours in the basement trying to conquer an ever-growing pile of disgustingness without catching the plague myself? (Incidentally, it was a losing battle…) I’d like to leave that in the past for quite a long time, thank you.