I am recovering from the attack of the Creeping Crud 2006. I was hoping to write something witty about my recovery. Alas, I lack the brain capacity. I believe that the truest measure of one's recovery is how the medicine tastes. You see, Monday the medicine tasted ... well, better than OK. Almost good. Last night, as I downed yet another dose of the sleep-inducing drug, it curled my toes and I apparently made some pretty good faces. The daughter units laughed loudly and long. This morning I took the day-time meds, and realized that they do taste awful. This means I am improving, right?
In the throes of my illness, my wonderful honey took over. He cooked. He washed dishes. He did the laundry. He went grocery shopping. Without complaint. Without being asked.
Granted, he generally does the shopping. And he generally does the laundry. And he generally does the cooking. But I *DO* help with these chores. And I usually wash the dishes. He loads the dishwasher and I do the pot scrubbing. Generally.
But this week he declared that I was akin to Typhoid Mary, and to stay out of the kitchen. This wasn't hard to do -- I was way too busy blowing my nose and sneezing. He did it all. Cooking, dishes, laundry. He is truly a King among men. Doug, thank you for your efforts at keeping hearth and home together. Without you, we'd have been reduced to chicken noodle soup and orange juice. For the entire week.
Brandi assisted in the home front as well. She cleaned the bathroom, top to bottom, in an effort to throw all the germs into the netherworld. Top to bottom, I say. She even scrubbed the shower stall. Sunglasses are now required for entering the bathroom. The windows were thrown open and fresh air flooded into the room.
She even cleaned the girls' bedroom, top to bottom. She claims it was in an effort to keep my germs at bay. I am a little suspicious. In any event, the bedroom looks smashing. The desk (and computer) were available, so I spent some of my recuperation time formatting their computer and stuff. I figure one good turn deserves another, right?
In between blowing my nose (incessantly), sneezing and napping, I did do some knitting this week. I still have to check for errors, but I think I accomplished this:
A baby layette for the Durham Crisis Pregnancy Centre from the McCall's Super Baby Book, circa 1979. The yarn is Bernat Softee Baby (no dye lot, which is a good thing because I needed 5 ounces, not the 4 ounces claimed in the book). It still needs the ribbon sewed on the bonnet and installed in the booties, but I can do that no problem.
The sweater is another raglan from the Leisure Arts' #159, Knitted Seamless Raglans (circa 1979). What an excellent pattern book this is! I paid $3.50 (less an employee discount) for it way back when, and I've made at least 50 sweaters from it. Money well spent, and I recommend it or the successor booklet without hesitation.
The tissues? I figure that my bosom friend for the last 24 hours deserves a picture. The other two boxes have already gone to recycle.