We're only 12 days in, but so far, 2009 has been the Worst Year Ever. The death of Chris's grandmother, of course, made us all feel a bit sad. The girls and I had a great time at my parent's house, but our time there was bracketed by two awful plane trips, complete with vomit, and it makes me sad to realize that every trip to see my parents seems destined to be expensive and stressful and fraught with problems. Mallory and I were both felled by a stomach virus which lasted most of last week; I thought we were over it and we had a nice weekend, but Mallory woke up sick again last night. She's thrown up more in 2009 than she has in her entire life up to 2009. (And last night made me really, really, really, regret our decision to get bunk beds.) 2009 needs to back off and give us a break, already.
One of the things that I failed to appreciate about my mom until I left home is that she always made dinner (although I think we called it supper then), by which I mean, something hot, usually involving a vegetable. I don't remember my mom ever saying sheepishly to her hungry spouse and offspring, "I don't feel like cooking, how about a bowl of cereal?" I hate making dinner. Haaate it. It's my least favorite chore. It's not necessarily because I can't cook. I can usually manage to create something edible, although I have yet to perfect the science of getting, say, the chicken and the broccoli and the rice and the rolls all ready at the same time. (There are those among you who may be surprised that I make and serve broccoli. It's true! It's best when roasted: Toss with olive oil and salt, spread on a baking sheet, put in 400 degree oven for about 8 minutes. It's delicious! Delicious as broccoli can be, at least.) It's also not necessarily t...
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Rhett is sick with strep right now and I am just waiting to see who ends up with it next.
Sigh.