Stomach flu blitzkrieg

It appears that another of these 24-hour stomach bugs has wormed its way into our house. Daddy and I woke up today with both our stomachs roiling. I'm particularly proud that we went to church anyway, and early church at that. I was inspired by the late great Grandpa Peetz. Meemaw told me how she would beg her dad to let her stay home from church when she had a cold. Grandpa Peetz, never one to mince words, told her "the only way you're staying home from church is if you're dead." I think he would be proud of us. It really wasn't that hard, except when I took communion. You'd think a teeny bit of bread and wine wouldn't be enough to make you blow chunks, but you'd be wrong.

When we got back home, I threw up way more than should be possible for someone who had eaten nothing that morning. Daddy, bless his darling precious heart, wrangled the babies from 9:30 to 4:30 so I could lay in bed and moan. The only thing that made me feel better was napping with Jake. Daddy brought him into bed with me at around 1, and Jake promptly conked out, all the while kicking and kneaded my aching back like a shiatsu massage. Between that and snuggle therapy, I felt much better when I woke up.

Then it was time for Daddy to be sick all afternoon and evening. Daddy was thankful for football, which gave him an excellent reason to lay down and rest while he took in three different games. Isaac even watched the blowout Eagles game with Daddy, prompting him to ask, "Daddy, why does one team always have the ball?"

So today, a gorgeous sunny one in the 70s where I had grandiose plans of going apple-picking, was completely a wash. Mommy and Daddy lay around and groaned while the babies watched a bazillion hours of TV. Certainly days like this make us wish we lived a little closer to the grandparents.