I’ve been wishing for a sick day.  For the kind of day where you have zero expectations for laundry and personal grooming.  The kind of day where you can justify hours of movies while you snuggle a feverish little one on the couch, getting up only to refill their water bottle and stretch enough so that your butt doesn’t fall asleep.  And thanks to a nasty case of the cruds, I got that yesterday.  These two, home with green elevens making tracks to their sweet lips and perched in Lucy’s usual spot helping me make gf pumpkin bread and making my spine tingle with their gross banana noises:

 These two are happy as larks being together, especially if they are too sick to go anywhere but well enough to hang a hammock from the river birches in the back yard and go for a swing in the sunshine.  Well enough to help me transform a black sweatshirt into a Doberman costume for Peter’s 2nd grade musical on Thursday.  Well enough to play basketball in the driveway, Lucy on my shoulders being less a handicap than my stunning lack of athletic prowess.  Well enough to eat oatymeal with maple syrup and then sneak a couple chocolate kisses from a Valentine’s bag to help it go down.  Well enough to sit at table and talk about the season of Lent that starts tomorrow and has us all asking Father what things we need to give up so we can focus better on Him.  And, no Grant, you can’t give up pants and chicken.

So here’s to sick days, together.  And the ushering in of a season of preparing for Jesus.  And doing them both in our warm nummies.
This is me being real.  Thankful for sick days.  And my people who make them so great, even with the banana noises.

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