"Slowly, slowly slowly," says the sloth. At least according to Eric Carle. And slow is definitely the word that best describes my progress on these manuscript revisions. I open the file every day, tinker with a word here and there. But the holidays are here! I've got decorations to put up, gifts to shop for, cards to mail out. Once I find my address book. How am I supposed to focus on the written word when those Snoopy inflatables need to be staked to the front lawn?
And if all the tinsel and Christmas carols weren't distracting enough, my oldest came home with a stomach virus, which he decided to announce at midnight on Thursday when he threw up all over his bed. Call it misplaced optimism, but I blithely changed the sheets, thinking, "It's just a one-time thing. Surely it's not contagious." I decided to ignore the obvious fact that he'd most likely caught the virus from someone else, that this wasn't some food poisoning fluke.
And Jake helped feed into this fantasy by improving at a rapid rate. By Friday afternoon, he hadn't been sick in hours and the rest of us were feeling great. We were home clear.
Until Saturday night. When the baby and I both fell ill. Nothing's more fun than taking care of a sick kid when you're sick yourself. Lucky for me he rebounded quickly. But I'm old. I take longer to heal these days. Which is why I had to rest in the middle of writing this blog. How ridiculous is that? Jake thinks it's hilarious that his mom is lying around during the day. He keeps staring at me and chuckling. Nothing speeds the healing process like a five year old mocking you. I'd come up with a funny last line, but I have to go lie down again.