Yesterday we had a sick day. For a family that is rarely sick, it was quite an anomaly. Even when the kids are just a little sick, we usually push on through with whatever we already had planned. As the child of a teacher, this is just how I was brought up: if you weren't gushing blood or throwing up, you got on with your day.
But yesterday Colin was throwing up, big time. So we spent the day quietly at home. And you know what? It was glorious.
Colin, my loud, active boy, spent the day cut and tracing and colouring in activity books. Archer, who wasn't sick at all, spent the day pretending to be sick: all curled up with me on the couch, while I read him books and scratched his back. And I got to work on my knitting a bit.
Even Pélé and Baby Beau, the boys' dolls, spent the day recuperating. The only person in the house who didn't take it easy was Virginia, who is busy getting into everything these days. (My how the time flies!)
At the end of the day, I felt so well-rested and rejuvenated. It was possibly the best day I have spent with my children in a long time. Finally, I was able to put my finger on what had made the day so lovely: there was absolutely no fighting or bickering or rough-housing. And I hadn't had to raise my voice once. Too bad this doesn't happen when they are well!