Under the rooftop, sick sick sick

This has been a crapulent week in every sense of the NON-madeup word. Everyone in the house and maybe even some of the pets and visiting squirrels have come down with the flu, a cold, or both. After taking care of the fam Tuesday and Wednesday, I went to work for a few hours but then started to feel like mini-death myself, with a full-body ache and zero appetite. I went to bed at 7 pm, a full two hours before a one-year old. Thursday I felt a little better, but by Friday my stomach was tied up in knots, calling a saltine cracker all kinds of interesting names, and rendering me little able to get to a stack of presents to wrap or decorations to hang. I followed Ainsley around the house like a ghost, taping, hanging, pointing, mouthing unknown vowels in an attempt to be helpful.
Over the weekend, neither of us had a stomach to be proud of, but since Ainsley's parents were in town, we put on a brave face and let my father-in-law buy us dinner at a steakhouse in the opposite direction from all the malls. Ryan enjoyed his spinach and artichoke dip, but boy, that just went right through him, and with breakfast eggs the next morning, we were close to having some members of the International Atomic Energy sub-committee on hazardous waste investigating our diaper pail. If you get me.
His biggest issue now is a cold, which we think is the major factor preventing him from sleeping through the night lately. Hopefully when the sinuses clear, so will his 4.a.m social calendar.