Today was a typical March day, gray and drizzly. I sat in the living room and watched the rain come down. Our holiday lights still hang on the front of our house ... only 10 more months and they’ll be relevant again.
This week the laundry multiplied like an internet virus -- exponentially. A mysterious pair of jeans appeared in my closet. They are not mine. I tried them on. The pockets started halfway down my buttocks and extended to my thighs. I suspect they belong to one of my son’s friends but no one is willing to claim ownership. Apparently people come to our house and leave without their pants.
My children are sick. All three of them. They’ve been out all week. Their occupied pajamas are adhered to the living room couch cemented with Spaghettios, a lack of personal hygiene and the funk of illness. Not willing to kick invalids off the television I’ve watched more Zack and Cody than I’d care to admit. Briefly I conned them into watching the Food Network; Ace of Cakes and The Barefoot Contessa. It was good while it lasted.
I had no place to sit with the kids splayed about so I moved my reading chair into the tv room. I’m rather enjoying my special spot but there is no space to move around. Minimalism is not without its merits.
All week my lymph nodes have been swollen, tender. I’m cringing, waiting for the crash of illness. Each day I expect to wake with the horrendous virus that has set up residence in each of my children. And yet it hasn’t hit. I’m fighting it off ... so far.
Tonight were having steak sandwiches with black truffle butter and arugula. I’ll continue knitting my February Lady Sweater. I’m on the lace portion. It contains an error. My error. I accidentally repeated a row several rows back. I’m leaving it as it is. I’ll wear my imperfections on my sleeve. Because it is what it is ... sickness and health, good times and bad. We can't have one without the other.
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