My plan for yesterday was pretty simple, a day at home with the kids and some time doing knitting, housework, and blogging during their afternoon nap. This plan was interrupted Thursday evening when I got violently ill around 8 in the evening, and spent all night throwing up. I've been trying to think of the last time I was that sick and I think it was when I was about 13. Seriously, not cool. When yesterday morning came I could finally keep down water but couldn't stand without fainting.
Thankfully, my husband was able to work from home (there was apparently something that absolutely needed to be sorted out yesterday) and my mother came to the rescue to watch the kids and take care of me. She brought me soup and sorbet and played with Caleb and Ada. At one point she asked me if I wanted my knitting, and I had to say no, that I didn't think I could move that much. So I lay there, thinking about how this was basically what happened when I was sick and about eight years old. And you know, what? When you're sick, eight years old is a pretty good place to be.
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