We're all sick, to some degree. I have a low-level case of the blahs with a cough for added excitement. Lou and Archie are getting over fairly evil colds. Poor Bebe is right in the miserable stage of the cold. Charlotte seems mostly OK, except she has a little cough and has been sneezing like crazy. (I always say, "Bless you!" when she sneezes and she always says, "Thank you!" But if I'm not paying close enough attention, she'll say, loudly, "I sneezed, Mama! Bless me!")
I hate when the kids are sick. But at least they can all tell me where and what hurts, now. It was terrible when they were babies and toddlers. I still remember Christmas 2000, when the twins were about 17 months old. Archie was very sick for several days leading up to Christmas. This meant that I was completely responsible for the kids all the time and I had to do all the Christmas shopping on my own, too. Then the girls and I got sick -- fevers, aches (I think the girls were ache-y; I certainly was), coughs, and general listlessness. Archie went back to work, and the girlies and I camped on the couch and watched Nick Jr. all day. Every time I had to change a diaper, it took a tremendous effort on my part.
The capper to the week of sick was New Year's Eve, when Archie went out to get some food and I had to call him on his cell and beg him to come home. I'd put the girls to bed, but Lulu was crying about an hour later. She had vomited in her crib. I got her out and cleaned her up and changed her pajamas. Then she started walking around and crying and puked on the move. When Archie finally got home, she was in her fourth pair of jammies and all I wanted to do was get out of my soaked clothes.
Thankfully, no puking right now. Just the general crabbiness that comes from nasty colds. Maybe Santa should bring us all some Ny-Quil.