Okay-- the kids have been complaining-- raw throat, a little bit of dizziness, general meh. Mate's been complaining--lots of phlegm, and even more meh.
This morning, as I was climbing into the 80 degree pool in the 85 degree air, I was achy and my throat hurt a little and I generally felt...
Oh crap. We had the crud.
Suddenly, my policy of not fighting them all as they slept made me seem like a much better mother than I had felt like. (I'd felt like a crappy, lazy mother for not shoving them outside more using the flat of my foot.) And suddenly, all of the exciting plans I'd had about spiffing up the house for company (even though we weren't going to have any because our usual company had other plans) and having a barbecue and going to a movie seemed secondary to resting in, what for us, was a comparatively clean house. (I cleaned the kitchen table last night--nobody swoon!) So we did see a movie, but we got some take-out, and we'll light fireworks tonight and probably have ice cream, but in general?
We're going to have a very quiet holiday.
Is going to be sleeping and playing in the water and reading a book and playing in the water and...
Now don't get me wrong-- I'm all for the "Let's visit this and enjoy the ever-pummelling snot!" school of vacation. I like to get a good gander and lots of history and lots of "Oh, neat!" moments when I get my ass out of dodge.
But it seems like... I dunno, FORFRICKINEVER since the fam and I have ever just... kicked back, enjoyed the surf, and vegged. It's supposed to be good for the soul. And you all KNOW how I feel about water. It's my HOME. So we get to go swimming, and we swim well. We laugh and joke, and paddle and play, and most of us stay in until our fingers are pruny. I'm bringing books. I'm bringing sunscreen. I'm bringing a big floppy hat for Squish, and another one for T, both of whom have the complexion of a dead-fish's underbelly, they're so pale.
Goddess. With any luck, I'm bringing peace.
So today, we're not going balls-out Fourth of July mode. It's never really been our holiday anyway. Today, we're resting. We're indulging in some legal pyromania. At the moment, Squish and Zoomboy are outside, sipping lemonade and listening to somebody's pocket dog bark at our aging whatshound. Mate is sleeping, I'm listening to The Italian Job, and all-- repeat all-- is right with our world.
We can ride the whirlwind tomorrow, and damned if we won't enjoy it. Today, we're resting up.