Dave and I celebrated fourteen years of marriage yesterday. We spent the evening dosing kids with Tylenol and mopping up vomit.
Warning to my neighbors: I don't have a skull and crossbones to post on the front porch, but consider yourselves forewarned. Free range germs in the house! John was burning up with fever while Ainsley and Kolbe tossed their cookies in stereo. Tim got into the action this morning.
All of this is further complicated by the fact that my half and half - dated 10/31 - has curdled so I am facing four sick kids and a mountain of n-a-s-t-y laundry caffeine-free. This simply will not do. I plan a quick trip through the McDonald's drive through.
I'm angling to write a bright, uplifting piece about the joy and fruit that has come from these years of married love, but Ainsley is at the door wailing, "Mamamamamama!" and John has just informed me that his pull-up is poopy.
On a lighter note, I just found a Netflix DVD that has been missing for a month. In fact just yesterday I called Netflix to find out what I owed them. I think Season 1 of Monk will bring some much needed levity to this dreary day.
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