. . . that she gave me her terrible, awful, horrid, no good cold! And as usual, it has hit my old body much harder than it hit Zoe. Frankly, I'm miserable enough that I'd take brain surgery again over this; at least they give you really good drugs with brain surgery! Okay, I'm not really serious about trading this in for brain surgery. . . probably.
The girls were very sweet "taking care of Mama" after school. I got to veg on the couch while they covered me with blankets . . . and then abandoned me to go play Barbies in their room.
But I really shouldn't joke about the brain surgery; since that episode in 2007, every time someone in the family gets sick, Zoe or Maya or both with ask me if that person is going to die. And sure enough, Zoe asked tonight if I was going to die. I didn't tell her what I wanted to say -- no, but death would be an improvement to how I'm feeling now! I didn't think they'd appreciate the levity. Instead, I told her that people don't die from colds, and reminded her that she had the cold first, and she's alive and well.
And then we all snuggled together in my bed, and strangely enough, I started to feel better, with my girls cuddled up next to me! It's hard to feel sorry for yourself when you're the middle of a Zoe & Maya sandwich.