Yesterday, annoyed that taking rest the week before had not resulted in a complete recovery, I simply didn’t rest. And perhaps in karmic bodily retribution, last night I had the worst case of stuffed-up head I’d ever had. I felt like I’d been hit in the face with a big, blunt object – without the pain, but with all the swollen pressure. A shot-glass of the blue-green heavy duty called Nyquil provided means to sleep through the congestion. Waking up after mouth-breathing all night: priceless.
Today about thirty minutes before school’s close I get a call that my daughter is sick; her ear hurts. She’d mentioned this in the morning but had not felt hot nor looked feverish so I’d sent her off. I help Nels into layer upon layer and we go pick up his sister. Home again I begin an afternoon meal of soup (garlic sauteed in coconut oil, broth, pasta, cayenne, lemon, egg), salted cucumber, and sliced blood oranges while my daughter falls asleep in front of the fire, an exhausted pile of empty-looking clothes.
Ralph too is sick but did not stay home from his day trip to Olympia. Only Nels and Harris remain cheerful and virile, my son quickly scuttling under the kitchen table when I catch him, barechested and eating directly from the sugar tin. I place a small table for him in my bedroom so we can watch a movie with monsters together and wait for the man of the house to return.