Matt traveled to Washington D.C. on business the week before last. The one rule that consistently applies when Daddy is gone is that something goes wrong at home. An appliance breaks down, or the car does, or a sprinkler pipe breaks and floods the yard or some such thing. In this case, the plague hit our house.
We've hardly been sick all winter, but five of the seven kids came down with a nasty cold (a sixth was mildly touched) that week. It turned into bronchitis for several of the kids. Our week consisted of three visits to the pediatrician, two diagnosed ear infections and two kids on breathing treatments with the nebulizer. Good thing I still had the nebulizer from when Paul had RSV as a baby eleven years ago. Good thing, too, that I have a handy dandy daughter named Grace who was able to figure out how to use the thing.
Isaac ended up in my bed that week. I was very concerned about his breathing and wanted to keep a close eye on him, which resulted in very little sleep for me. By the time Matt got home, I was exhausted. He was jet lagged and exhausted as well. So we both hit the hay early that evening.
Isaac was far more energetic than his parents that night. After spending some time settling down with his big sister Elizabeth, he joined us on our bed. How quickly a bad habit is formed. Anyway, as soon as he hopped on the bed and saw that Matt was cuddled up to me, he informed his dad, "Dis my bed, Daddy!"
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