There's nothing quite like getting together with all sorts of friends and family at the holidays and spreading around the love. Oh, and the ghastly germs.
We survived Thanksgiving day. It was the day after that turned our Black Friday into a dark day, indeed. Henry woke puking early Friday a.m., just as the rest of the country was being trampled in malls for doorbuster deals. His uncle got it around the same time, and by late that afternoon, on the inlaws' drive back home, the bug hit Tim's mom.
Tim and I got a somewhat subdued version of the illness, but it was miserable, all the same. (The only bright spot in all this was the fact that it was NOT my food that caused the illness. Henry ate a peanut butter sandwich instead of turkey on Thanksgiving, and he had a fever, which is NOT a food poisoning symptom. Whew.)
So there goes our four-day weekend, down the toilet. Literally.
I think I'm going to quarantine us for Christmas. No one goes in or out. And we're leaving a bottle of Purell for Santa, instead of the cookies. Wash up, big guy.