This is officially Not Funny Anymore. The little punks have given me this flu crap. I’ve had it. I surrender. They can have McDonalds every night, and watch all the TV they want. They win. Honey, please come home. Things started out promising – everybody was finally healthy, so I had my first day in the office all week. Plus the internet was down (yes!), so we pretty much drank beer all day. Then the dreaded call from the daycare comes in. Coop has a temp of 103. I pick his hot little self up, and bring him home, undeterred from my goal of making a nice dinner on my last night alone. Grilled pork tenderloin in an Asian marinade, couscous, broccoli with cheese sauce and fresh strawberries. They ate the strawberries. Which was the right thing to do because the rest of it was abominable. And then this morning, I matched Coop degree for degree. A pair of 102s. I feel like coyote ate me and shit me off a cliff. A quick quiz: did Daddy Clay take off his bathrobe to go to the airport?

Fat chance.