December, the month from HELL

At least, that was how it was last December. I counted our doctor visits last December, and it was 8. EIGHT times to the doctor, folks. And the health forecast is gloomy this month, with a chance of more puke and more boogies, and more sore throats. Poor Ander got in trouble in school today because he laid his head down on his desk. Because he had a headache. Ahem (holding my tongue here). Also he was quite distraught because the cinnamon roll at lunch didn't look good. Gunnar woke up just in time this morning to decorate our house with puke. Many thanks to the Vomit Fairy, I look forward to another visit from you in 5 days. And I can't swallow. If I had tonsils, they would be swollen to the size of a lime. And Tamsyn darlin' is right there with me. We keep downing the hot cider, it's the only thing that brings temporary relief. I am grateful for the lack of ear-infections thus far (knocking on wood VERY hard) and I am grateful for a husband who doesn't get sick. Ever. Lohn has never been to the doctor for an illness in the 11.5 years that I have known him. So we are just going to hunker down in our apartment, quarantine ourselves for the benefit of the world, and pass our germs back and forth between us with wild abandon. Okay, I am done grumping now. I am going to go clean up the confetti my children unearthed from who knows where. So long world, we will see you again in April when we resurface from our solitary confinement.