I’m still sick.
(And by help I totally mean the Thunder from Down Under. Nothing says a”quick recovery” like gyrating Australian hips clad inSpeedos.)
Save my family from my ever-growing bad mood and save me from my perpetual and unattractive bedhead.
Two days of this crap leaves melonging for the days of my Dolly Parton hair and Tammy Faye Baker makeup. This infirm-induced au’natural junk is for the birds.
P.S. I must add, I think there is nothing more unnerving to achild’s psyche than when their mother is “out of commission.” My poor kids (and husband) don’t know what to do with themselves.
I crawled out of bed this morning to help Jer get Avery off to school and could sense a quiet discomfort from Jer at being guided through the steps of building a lunch and from Avery at watching her father manhandle the Disney princess sandwich holder. I had to scale Jer back a little as it appeared he was building a lunch worthy of a 200-pound lumberjack and not a 50-pound first grader.
And Jack? That little dude has beat feet into my bedroom no less than 50 times to peel back my eyelids and stare into my groggy, sleep-hampered eyeballs. Therapeutic. Really.
P.P.S. I’m totally serious about the Australians.