The neighborhood that Super Bowl parties together gets the flu together.  We're down with the flu.  Everyone. 

Wednesday it hit me.  Yes, I've had a flu shot.  No, it didn't help.  Yes, I want my money back.  By the time Chris made it home Wednesday the kids and I were wrapped up shivering beneath several blankets.  He fed us.  He distributed medications.  He tucked us in.  Thursday he went to work (new job = no leave).  During the day the boy and I did all we could to get fluids into the baby, keep her diapers clean, and rest.  Thursday night Chris came home and took care of us.  Friday afternoon Wilson and I put Reagan down for a nap and both crawled off to my bed to rest ourselves. 

I wasn't aware how bad we looked or how bad we felt.  I had my laptop with me and worked from home.  Wilson and I had been wearing the same pajamas for a few days.  Our noses are red from all of the blowing and wiping.  Our throats hurt.  Our ears hurt.  We are freezing most of the time.  We snuggled into our blankets with only our eyes peeking out at each other.

"Mommy."

"Yes."

"We're not doing good are we?"

"No, but Daddy will be home sometime and he'll help us."

"Mommy?"

"Yes."

"The house smells bad."

"I can't smell."

"It smells bad.  And it hasn't been vacuumed.  And the kitchen is dirty and everything is a mess."

"I know."

"We need help."

I tell him there is no help coming.  The neighbors have the flu thanks to the Super Bowl party where the dip wasn't the only thing getting passed around.  I have a suspicion that Reagan may have brought it to the party and then shared her sippy cup with her friend and thus infected the neighborhood.  So far I haven't gotten any hate mail, but I think we're all too sick to send hate mail.  Auntie Lesley's house has the flu so we can't have a lovely South African accented woman tending to us.  We are on our own.  Wilson's expression when I tell him we are on our own looks like a military commander who has just learned there are no reinforcements or provisions on the way during a losing battle.  Welcome to influenza. 

"Can I call Honey?"

I dial the phone and hand it to him.  I hear my Mom answer the phone.  Wilson skips over the pleasantries of greetings and just lays it out there for her:

"Mom, Reagan, and I are sick.  The house smells bad.  Really bad.  We're wearing the same pajamas we wore yesterday and the day before that.  We are sick Honey, really sick.  We're dying and we need you to come help us."

Honey tells him she has the flu and can't come because she's sick.  Wilson thinks for a minute, then says:

"Can I talk to Aunt Amber?"

Chris came home and took care of us.  He changed our pajamas, he cleaned the kitchen.  He fed us, medicated us, and put us to bed.  When I woke up every hour to blow my nose or start coughing he got up with me.  When I started shaking with a bad fever he went to get me another blanket. 

Saturday he woke up and took the baby, who smiled for the first time in a week, downstairs and made waffles.  He set Wilson and me up on the couches with rented movies and blankets.  He kept fluids in us.  Today he's done the same thing.  And believe it or not, I can see the end of the flu.  The baby is back to herself, Wilson is running around.  I was able to clean up the house and do the laundry. 

Chris really is the hero this week.  The three of us are going to do something really nice for him when we're able to get out of the house.  Probably just in time for him to get the flu...