Then they get on with whatever we had on the schedule.
And that's actually kind of cool.
Until I get it, and it lays me out like a beached jellyfish on a hot Summer's day.
ME: What the what, boys? Is THIS what you had? How did you function this week?!
BOY(S): Um, yeah. I told you I wasn't feeling well.
ME: You mentioned that you were going to take a shower to see if it would clear your sinuses. You never once mentioned the rodent clawing your tonsils! Or the expanding thing that took over your head. Or how hard it is to remain upright!
BOY(S): Well, no. But I told you I wasn't feeling well.
ME: (groaning as I collapse on the couch) The devil is in the details, boys.
And so we fell. One every couple of days or so. It's viral, and it moves quickly, but everyone falls. The worst of it is over in about three days, but then the aftermath looks a lot like the zombie shows (the old ones, with the slow zombies - none of this Zombieland nonsense). It seems to take another five or six days to regroup the strength to function like a normal person. Thank God for Netflix. When I was a kid, being sick meant nothing but daytime TV on rabbit ears. I got hooked and all spooled up on Guiding Light when I had chicken pox in the 6th grade. They got to watch Tudor Monastery Farm, Sword Art Online, and Black Adder. They don't know how good they had it.
But Z and I do. Oh, yes. We were loving technology this week.
Kiss those babies!