I hate excuses. My philosophy is to just own up to whatever went wrong, which means that this week I suck. We returned late Monday from vacation and I woke up sick the next morning. I worked each day, then collapsed into bed, sometimes way too early, like 2 p.m. during a Dropbox upload. ("I'm just going to rest for a minute while the photos uplo...zzzzz.") This was a dream for the kids, who quietly turned on the TV and iPods for hours of endless, unpestered play.
Then yesterday things got a little better and I was finally being productive when our internet caught my illness. It went down hard, which is thankfully rare, but toss together a moderately sick person with no internet and it was as if I'd been stranded on a remote island with nothing more than the Penny Saver. I moaned, I cried, I mourned. I was close to calling Hospice. The internet said I had influenza, but I'm embarrassed to say I had a man cold. It was bad; I watched three episodes of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo without moving an aching muscle. I was clearly giving up.
Today the internet is back, and my optimism resurfaced briefly until one kid left his room fully dressed before 7 a.m., having spilled a full glass of milk in bed, which soaked through every quilt, blanket, sheet, and lovey. The vacation laundry remains tossed on the living room floor while I wash the milk mess.
A lot has happened - New Jersey! Philadelphia! Disney's Planes! Probably other stuff! Oh, yeah, I made a cocktail! And a super cool bulletin board that has me enamored! - but for now, someone has to unpack, and it appears I'm the lucky winner. Did I mention we're going camping on Sunday?