To my knowledge she hasn't set foot out of our bedroom all day. I have made a few hushed trips up there with gatorade and expressions of sympathy, but this current malady has caused her to abandon English for a language of moans and groans. It is the language of a poet attempting to articulate misery most succinctly. Jack is also sick, and as I type he is crashed out on the couch for his second nap of the day with lips stained purple from the sippy cup of gatorade he has been nursing. Poor little guy. I am feeling as strong as a horse though, and Lucy, who is at my elbow, describes her condition as "fantastic." I am confident that tomorrow will dawn on a Tate house free of this pestilence.
At least I got a lot of posting done today, and I also completed the Trinity Theological Seminary Tutorial course, which tells me how to access the library and work within their system. I'm feeling pretty jazzed about that. Lets get this party started.
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1 comment:
Poor, poor Sarah. Poor, poor Jack. How is Bowden-Boz? Fantastic too I hope.
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