He's My Little Ostrich...

...with his head in the sand.


Jonathan is sick--we're all pretty darned sick--but he doesn't like to take his medicine and "hides" here, between the couch and the register. Today he fell asleep there for a few moments.

Steve's parents were in town for a long weekend. We went to the American Girl store and the Museum of Natural History and showed them around the neighborhood. It was nice to be able to share the city with them for a while.

But in my mind, I had this conversation with them:

Me: Hi, Mom and Dad. Are you fully recovered from the stomach flu that we gave to you over Christmas, the last time we saw you?
Them: Oh, yes. It was awful, but we're over it.
Me: Good. It's been nice having you here, seeing you again. And here's a little going away present--the respiratory flu! That's right, nose that runs like a faucet, fever, aches, cough, the works. They're all yours. Thanks for coming!

Chloe came down with the flu the day they got here. Jonathan and I were hit with it on Monday. Steve's mom was starting to feel miserable right before they left.

I would not blame Tom and Marilyn if they don masks and gloves and hose us down with Lysol the next time we see them. I might just do that myself.