"You don't let me grow up very good. You make me into problems and you can't solve them."

12th wedding anniversary today. Sean's playing Ultimate, I'm waiting to get well. We'll celebrate it later sometime.

Rumour says a bad flu's going round. .25 patients get pneumonia, .5 get depression, .5 flu exhaustion x2. Guess I'm lucky.

Trying bed rest to send this flu away. Space Opera and tisanes vs. freezing, windy weather and herding cats.

Hazel and Iris met their 2nd cousin Abacus of abacus1.blogspot.com They found her very dear.

Thinking Children by Pam Cubey and Anne Meade is now available, for those interested in schemas or little kids.

If, when Sean gets home the water is mopped up, the food is eaten and it's all tidy, then he may give you each a chocolate.

'Mummy! Spill! Big big spill!' Mopped up the glass of water and once my pulse is at a resting pace I'll go back to sleep.

Sean at game, gone to bed leaving Hazel cutting fruit for their dessert. Believe all is well.

Hazel has a purple heart; a fawn bit her. It only meant to eat the food in her hand but it was young and a bit clumsy.

I think I said as many words yesterday as I did in the previous seventeen days. Still waiting to have got better.

Violinists' and pianists' fingers have different numbers. I know my fingers' numbers awkwardly well.

Woohoo! A day with a nap after breakfast and after dinner but no nap needed after lunch!

In Influenza it's always between midnight and four a.m.

I am proud of my marvelous children, not for their fine feats, but because they are mine to take pride in.

Got up, sat around for a nice chat and kids' half-birthday lunch, got tired, flaked out.

Got up, broke fast, cleared table, emptied dishwasher, dressed, went shakily back to bed.

Lately Iris goes everywhere, even to sleep, with Moab's carry-cage filled with animal toys and smaller boxes. Enveloping.

Still weak and ill, very slowly recovering.

Hazel's joke- What do one and one make? Eleven!Iris's joke- Why did the poo flush the toilet? To get to the other poo!

Lichen on a sunny branch, Hazel and Iris have a high shelf nest. I feel a few years younger and may get up for lunch.

There seem to be naked mole rats burrowing and scraping a new home behind my nose. They go quiet after I take my medicine.

Will I be like this in old age; quiet, calm, and only willing to read paperback Terry Pratchetts with the witches in them?

It was Hazel, not Iris, who gave me this wax. I have made a cube, a sphere, several fingernails and some tiny cheerios.

Iris has provided me with a small amount of wax, no philosophical breakthroughs yet.

Limp as old celery, coughing up pond scum, but no fever and some parts don't hurt. Time for an optimistic snooze.

I took an antibiotic this morning and my temperature's come down a degree since. Hope dealing with only the flu might be ok.

40.4' C or 104.72' F. This may be a personal high-score.

I wish I'd had a 'flu shot.

I've got a strangely impressive fever: 38.6-38.9 (about 102) for the last 12 hours. Everything hurts, my eyes feel peeled.

Feverish. I must've hit the Pyrolite self-clean function by mistake.