My poor, darling, sick husband is sleeping after a terrible night camped out on the bathroom floor. He got food poisoning last night and is still fighting to keep things down and to stay off the “Bad Pork Express” (as we have dubbed the toilet in our lone bathroom. Food poisoning does make you wish for at least a bath and a half).
My sweet, darling, boisterous toddler is down for the night, snuggled into his crib, spooning his stuffed monkey.
I am on the couch, covered by my favorite quilt, watching the Olympics and eating some cheese. My mother was born in the Netherlands, as were my father’s parents. I have to say that watching speed skating while eating cheese is making me feel like a credit to my heritage.
I don’t think the cheese is going to get me thighs like that though.