Fast forward about ten years. And I'd welcome you into our home, except I don't have an extra Hazmat suit for you to don. Because we have been sick.
For the past two and a half weeks, Jake has been absent almost everyday. And in sixth grade, there are important, age-appropriate studies to make up. Things like algebra, and a world cultures
Then Olivia, who has not yet, at two, had so much as a stuffy nose, became really sick. And because I am no longer this woman*, I had nothing at home for her. So even though she's crying and feeling like she would like to just stay home and be cuddled, I take her with me to the store. I grab--while cooing to her to please stop crying and to not remember this moment of parenting instead please recall an hour later from now when we'll be home and I'll be rocking her--all the items that we NEED to make her feel better. You know: the aforementioned Pedialyte, chicken soup (ugh--canned), fruit, juices, children's Motrin, tissues. Oh, and a few extra items that she has pointed to while crying: crayons, markers, cupcakes, pack of bubbles, new toothbrush with a Hello Kitty handle, balloons, ice cream sandwiches, and at the point of checkout, a large box of imported Italian Panettone.
I won't admit to you what the bill was, all to appease my sick daughter and restock my home with items that thirty-four year old Laura would have already had in the house. But I will tell you that thirteen dollars and ninety-nine cents of that bill was for a box of Italian raisin bread that she had to have. I guess it's okay, Eric was looking into working at a mini-mart in his spare time anyway.