This week's Monday Mission at Maypole's place is to write a post in the form of a letter to Santa. I feel duty bound to participate because it was my suggestion and she obliged me. I had an idea I thought might be cute or clever, or at the very least participatory, but I haven't been up to much in the way of writing this weekend. And I'm definitely not feeling funny or clever.
Because I am still freakin sick. I had one stupid tease of a day on Friday where I thought I was recovering, but now, once again, I resemble the woman in the NyQuil commercial. Except that no amount of green liquid leaves me sleeping peacefully at night. I won't go on about my ailments. Everyone I know is battling illness right now. Mine is nothing remarkable. Not even close. And Clara continues to improve, for which I am very grateful. She was one sick little girl.
But Ben is now coughing and feverish and I am just over all of it. A week of me, and my kids, flat on my back is quite enough, thank you.
(It's true, one lousy week and I am toast - Kyla, honey, I don't know how you do it.)
So with no further ado,
When you stop by our house on Christmas Eve you don't have a to leave us a single thing. However if you'd be so kind as to take every bit of sickness out of our home and leave us all bright and bushy tailed for the rest of the Christmas break that would be awesome. That's all I want.
However, if you insist on leaving a gift, I wouldn't mind a personal chef. And maybe peace on earth, while you're handing out miracles.
We left you cookies, but I wouldn't eat them if I were you. Awful lot of coughing and sniffling went on during the baking process. So sorry.
Yours truly ,