Christmas came early for me this year.
It was wrapped in a nasty, exceptionally-violent stomach bug that claimed almost all of us. But inside my Christmas package, I found a 3-year-old who held me in bed and rubbed my arm for hours, asking gently: “Mama, you feel better?”; a healthy, content 20-month-old who cried only when he couldn’t be near Mama and Brother; and a partner who dropped everything to care for all of us, making toast, helping toddlers barf into buckets and laundering vomit-soaked blankets.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
It really is a beautiful life.
And now, for the laundry.