Our Own Private Island
This week the entire family got the flu. The summer flu, the high fever, achy, coughing, terrible flu. One by one we dropped like flies. First it got my husband, then me, next my 1 year old, and lastly my 3 year old. I, of course, was allowed to stay sick for the shortest amount of time. Who else would take care of this sickly brood?
The first day, was oddly wonderful. My husband lay on one couch, me on the other. We dozed in and out of sleep in front of the TV all day long. I couldn’t remember the last time the two of us were alone, all day long, doing absolutely nothing. We had short conversations, as we passed the box of tissues back and forth. Taking turns getting up to replenish the Gatorade and ibuprofen.
At 4pm we got the call, the “your kid is sick, come get them,” call. The four of us spent the evening curled up on the couch, watching movies together. The next day we took the boys to the doctor, together. Again, I couldn’t remember the last time a trip to the doctor wasn’t something that I crammed into my already busy schedule, in between meetings and conference calls.
All in all, those 2 days were the most amount of time that we had all spent together at our house, doing nothing in a very long time. I loved it. Being sick gave us the instant excuse to escape the normal routine, the obligations, the responsibilities, and just be. Almost like a snow day, there was no need or reason to go anywhere, or do anything, and just be. As the dishes piled high in the sink, and dirty laundry covered the floor, the four of us snuggled in on the couch together.




