Oh no, whoever that is, please don't tell me it's my husband. I take a closer look. Crap, Crap, Crap! It is, it really is my husband!
How dare you, you darn cootie bug. How dare you attack him. I've been taking care of sick children for over ten days. I'm finished, I'm tired. Wait a minute....I'm healthy!
How can this be? Usually by now I have a fever of 101, my body feels like it was used as a pinata, and I'm attached to an I.V. drip of Sangria (just to help keep my sense of humor).
I know it's my destiny. I'm counting down the days. I actually thought I would wake up this morning like my younger son involuntarily dripping nose sauce. Especially when I went to kiss him last night and he blew a cough right into my mouth. That's right, I said a cough.
Well the only true plans I have this weekend are to get my taxes done. And let's face it, by the time I walk out of there, I'll feel like I'm dying anyway.
So I'm peeking over my computer at Hubby who I believe should be tightly wrapped in a bubble. He just reached for the remote. Looks like I'm going to miss Grey's Anatomy tonight because I am not touching that thing. (I mean the remote, not my husband).
Signing off now, bloggies. May your nights be filled with germ free dreams!