Pigs are Flying

My Aunt Margaret flew in for a long overdue visit Saturday morning.   I had visions of the two of us spending time in the kitchen, whipping up culinary delights as well as comfort meals to sock away in the freezer for the post-baby days.  We'd make scones and have tea in the afternoon; spend copious amounts of time at Wegmans; the Williams Sonoma Outlet had stocked up in anticipation of our arrival.  Sure, I hadn't quite figured out where the kids figured into all of this, but this is why they have a father.  Besides, they love to cook and would have gained some priceless lessons at Margaret's knee. 

Alas, the swine flu had other plans for our family.  Hadley started getting sick in the wee hours of Sunday morning.  Thatcher then developed the fever (or "feeber" as he likes to say) Monday morning.  A Monday afternoon doctor visit confirmed that H1N1 was paying us a visit.  Urgh.  We are now all on the antiviral, Tamiflu, to the tune of $475, which is enough money to make you sick even if you weren't in the first place.  At this point, I'm only on it as a preventative measure, and we pray that it stays that way.

So, Margaret got to spend her "vacation" cooking, cleaning, and sanitizing.  It was a huge blessing, but probably not the most relaxing trip.  We tried to convince her that it was selfish of her to leave and possibly expose others to the virus, but it didn't work.  Do we know how to entertain guests or what?

Although we're down, we're definitely not out in the humor department.  This afternoon, Thatcher looked at me and said, "Mom, why don't you get off the couch and make me sumpin (something) to eat."  I can't decide if that sounded more like Daddy, Papa Wayne, Papa Cecil, or Uncle Devin.  It's pretty much a tie.