The Flu

About a month ago, after nursing my family through two months of almost constant sickness, I succumbed to the bug. It was awful. The worst part of it was that I simply couldn’t kick back and be sick. Everyone kept pestering me with questions and waking me up with urgent requests.

Since I write about the trivia of my life, I described my experience in my Letter from Harrisburg column in the paper, attempting to put a humorous twist on what I saw as the inevitable result of signing up to be a mom and coming down with the flu.

I honestly was not trying to get revenge by writing about my experience. In fact, everyone I wrote about got to preview the article with full veto power. But something lovely and entirely unexpected came out of it.

I am once again sick with the flu, a different strain this time, with a sandpaper throat and leaky-faucet nose, which is not a lovely experience. But my family is treating me like a queen.
"Can I do anything for you?"
"You stay in bed and I’ll take care of things."
"Shall I make you some tea?"
"Are you as miserable as you look?"
"Do you have a headache?"

I thought it was impossible, but here I am, a feverish mom of six swaddled in blankets and heating pads, free to be sick until I get well. God moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform.

Quote of the Day—
"It’s called ‘casserole,’ from which comes the Greek word for ‘Mennonite.’"
--Matt, when Aunt Bonnie brought a hot dish and Ben wondered what it was.