I took last night off my blog.

I’d thought about writing, then deliberately made the choice not to.

My year of blogging dangerously was over months ago, but I’m happy to find that it has remained a valuable part of my day, on most days, at least.

Yesterday however, was not one of those days.

Yesterday I felt like it was another obligation when I didn’t want to think or talk or use my brain even one minute more than required.

So I went to bed instead of writing about my day, because yesterday felt so hard.

The kids had been fed and put to bed and my husband was dying of his version of whatever plague germ was going around our house.

Today was not off to a good start when the youngest woke me up before my alarm,

then asked for a bowl.

I was grateful in my confusion as I passed the bowl over to see my three year old promptly filled it, instead of throwing up on the floor.

We snuggled on the couch, instead of exercising in the gym as planned,

for the fifth day in a row.

I took the older two to dayhome

while dad and son stayed together in their

miserable viral-induced prison.

I’ve now let the kids wear pajamas three days in a row, provided they changed them daily (underwear, too!)

I ran out of gas on the way to work,

then got stuck in construction after filling up,

to be greeted with two surprise family meetings

the moment I arrived.

I ate lunch in the car, happy that pumpkin spice is back, my pick-me-up reward for making it through the morning,

although it was half-sweet and decaf.

An afternoon avalanche of work awaited, yet I made it through, sanity mostly intact, arriving home to find supper made,

Kids home,

Everyone happy.

The week has felt much longer than usual,

but the pleasant surprise of the tsunami of sickness cresting and subsiding

made today worth writing about,

even with a bad start.

Hopefully the rest of the week is smooth sailing from here.