W is for “We are scarcely yet able to describe the horror.”
Originally uploaded by melynda.huskey
We have been so sick. We are still actually pretty pitiful. Tuxedo Boy came into our room at 2 a.m. Monday morning crying and threw up all over me. 36 hours later, everyone in our house except Papa was down for the count. Fever, bone-crushing aches, fierce headaches, and a variety of gastrointestinal symptoms best passed over hastily have given way to fatigue, malaise, and a quickly ignited crankiness.
Little Sunshine missed her first two days of junior high. Tuxedo Boy missed the first day of second grade. I missed four days of work. The Plague of August will long be remembered.
This bowl of chipped ice, as delivered from our refrigerator, was the most beautiful food I’d ever seen. It brought tears to my eyes (no exaggeration, despite the cliche. Nothing will probably ever taste as good as this ice did.