Transmissions From The Sick House

It all started with a runny nose. Lydia's runny nose, to be precise, the contents of which were passed from nose to sleeve to hand to godknowswhere, and eventually everyone in the house is coughing and wheezing and tired and cranky. This includes Henry, who hasn't quite mastered the skill of coughing, so each involuntary hack is quickly followed by an annoyed cry, under which one can clearly make out the uncomfortable rattle in his chest and pained longing for a clear breathing passage. It's tragic.

Meanwhile, Mom and Dad are coping (one better than another) with the sinus headache-induced bickering, with our interrupted sleep more interrupted than usual, with Valentine's plans postponed due to an uncontrollable (and unromantic) launching of snot rockets, with minimal motivation to do anything more than a cursory tidy and collapse into bed. It's tragic.

At least I have the DVR, and four hours of sick time remaining in the fiscal.