“We’re going somewhere this weekend, right?” I said with eyebrows raised. It wasn’t so much a question as a demand.
“Where do you want to go?”
“I don’t care, just OUT OF THIS HOUSE.”
This was an exchange Saturday morning. We were all finally on the verge of well. After having spent the better part of 2 weeks stuck inside with the sick and snot and used tissues, I was ready for fresh air and a reason to wear something other than stale pajamas. I’m sure the kids were, too. I really didn’t care what or where, we just needed to go. Cabin fever would be an understatement.
Not even a few hours later, however, Abby came down with a fever of 102.
Whoever is up there, playing the pranks, this isn’t funny. Over two weeks now, of ear infections and colds and almost pneumonia and barking coughs and a runny nose and breathing through one’s mouth and a congested, stuffed up head and administering medicine. Now, a fever. Because, you know, something was missing. Which means in lieu of going out, I watched Olympic curling and had to deal with a pitiful, unhappy toddler.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
There’s always next weekend, right?
I probably just jinxed it.