Friendly Bubonic Plague, Messy Breakfasts, The Sunshine of Ellie-Belle

Having mom and dad here for Christmas has been AWESOME.  
Someone to talk to in the morning who isn’t in a bad mood when they wake up?  SUBLIME.  
I wake up wishing Ellie would sleep in a little longer but otherwise excited to get the day started.  I don’t know why.  Each day is more of the same since I’m not working, each day a cookie cutter cut-out like the last and yet…I wake up singing.  
There may be something wrong with me that only serious drugs and surgery can fix.  Since I am firmly of the belief drugs and unnecessary hacking only lead to other problems, I guess the world is stuck with me how I am.  
Well, not the world really because they can take me or leave me but BILL is stuck with me how I am.  Mom and dad are too but they raised me so they’ve given up expecting me to suddenly sprout ‘normal’ horns and move about my day.  I don’t know what ‘normal’ horns are.  I may be delirious from the Bubonic Plague dad picked up at the airport and gave to everyone but mom.  (You go mom!  Rah rah rah!)
Maybe if dad weren’t so friendly he wouldn’t have picked up said Bubonic Plague but we’ll never know for sure.  DAD I DO NOT BLAME YOU.  He was the sickest of us all in fact he’s still not feeling well despite the hot ginger tea I’m pushing on him like a heroin dealer with a gambling problem.  (Ginger helps boost your immune system).  True.  Google it.  Doooooo it.  Ack I’m doing it again, sorry, sorry.  (But seriously it DOES help.)
Ellie is finally getting better and I didn’t get very sick myself.  I credit my ‘I’m not sick’ mantra.  Whenever I’m sick I convince myself I’m not really sick, I’m just FIGHTING a cold.  Which I am.  And which I will win.  

Moving about my day in pretty much the same way I would if I weren’t fighting a cold with the exception of drinking lots of hot liquids, getting extra sleep when I can and taking a decongestant to keep things moving.  Also, incorporating a few immune building poses in my daily yoga practice.  Yes I have a daily yoga practice.  Ba ba baaaaa.  Maybe ‘practice’ is misleading.  More like…daily…TASTE of yoga.  A few poses, usually Cat/Cow and a few twists, maybe some downward dog or back bends.  Ten to fifteen easy peasy minutes and then about 10 mins of meditation at the end of the day.  
Doable even for a mom of a sick 19 month old.  It’s just part of my ‘bedtime’ routine like brushing my teeth and checking for monsters under my bed.  Texans call them cockroaches but I prefer to call them brown beetles.  It makes my skin crawl slightly less when I think of them that way.  Slightly.
ANYWHO.  Back to being excited over having someone (mom) up with me in the morning who smiles when I smile and laughs at my (very laughable) morning antics.  I couldn’t get a smile out of Bill in the kitchen in the morning if I had Jerry Seinfield, Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert AND Tina Fey all jockeying for ‘funniest person ever’.  Truly. 
He’s in a good mood when he first wakes up but by the time he gets to the kitchen and starts to cook himself breakfast he’s sunk into quite a cranky funk.  Maybe it’s the shock of a messy kitchen?  
After so many years living by himself, having the kitchen be in the same state of sterile, obsessive cleanliness when he gets up in the morning as when he went to bed the night before, it must be quite a shock to come out and witness the carnage Ellie and I can create in mere moments of half-wakefulness.  Breakfast is messy business around here.  There’s waffles to make, blueberries to wash, apples to peel and cook, strawberries to wash and cut up for Ellie.  Breakfast is serious business ’round here.  Hence, messy.
ANYWHO.  I’m grateful mom and dad are here.  And focusing on gratefulness, I’m grateful that no matter what mood Bill is in, taking care of Ellie always, always, ALWAYS cheers him up.  It never ceases to amaze me how that little girl can make him light up just by smiling, or picking her nose, or doing ‘old man lip.’  Life isn’t perfect but it sure is lovely.  And weird.  Mostly lovely.

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