Some Killer Business

I just got through eating lunch. It was one of my concoctions involving nearly every left over ingredient available in our fridge. It contained some beans and meat and a little cheese and some tomatoes and a few other items. It was killer.

Which reminds me of something (as the word killer always shall). Once, when I was a mere girl of 12(ish) -- untrained in the arts of small talk and flirtatious banter. I found myself in line at a local water slide in front of a slightly older boy who seemed intent, to my horror, on striking up a conversation with me. I don't recall what was said or how I uncomfortably answered until he questioned, "So, have you ever ridden the water slides at night?" "No," I answered awkwardly (were the water slides even open at night?). "It's totally KILLER," he assured me. Having little idea what to do with this information about killer night water sliding, I nodded and smiled and mumbled something and turned back to the line -- willing it with all of my heart to be nearly over with.

That is probably about how all of you felt just now when I mentioned that my weird lunch was killer -- awkward, embarrassed, and willing the post to just end.

And yet, it continues.

We had a good deal of crummy sickness around here this past week. It fell my family members one by one in the following order: Jesse, Penny, Abe, Goldie, Jesse (again?? Who really knows. He started the whole business and seemed to have moved well beyond it, but then, just for good measure -- or maybe because he wanted to remind us whose sickness this really was, he threw up again a few days later), Daisy, Mike.

It was relatively short lived -- slamming those who got it quite fiercely for about 8 hours, then restoring them back to near perfect health with in about 18. Mike threw up so hard though that he actually burst a bunch of capillaries around his eyes. He still has two blood red dark circles under each of his eyelids. That was a little scary.

Anywho, six out of seven isn't very good odds (well, for number seven staying healthy that is . . . if you are looking at it as "good odds of number seven getting it," then, well, I guess you are right). As I am number seven, I have been living in a state of fear -- just waiting for my turn; wondering when it will begin. It's kind of like waiting for labor (only, you know, quite a bit less exciting). Every night I go to bed thinking, "Will tonight be when it all starts?" And then Mike calls me in the day to see if I'm still here.

But who knows. It's been nearly two days now. Maybe I just have a super charged, super great immune system! And that, if anything in this post, is what is "killer." (Although, one must fear, after making such a bold statement, that they will most likely be found crumpled in a miserable heap next to the toilet with in the next few hours.)

Then again . . . perhaps not. I ran around playing in dirt and probably eating it (for all I know) most of my growing up years. I don't recall anyone ever once suggesting that perhaps a good hand washing was in order. Oh, I picked it up on my own at some later stage of life (the smiled upon art of hand washing and frequent bathing), but it just may be that those early carefree days of germyness are serving my immune system well now! (Incidentally, spellcheck is quite uncomfortable with the use of "germy-ness"). Isn't that a happy thought though? Not happy enough to stop me from enforcing hand washing among my own children, but happy enough for me to turn a blind eye when Mike lets them eat dirty old snow.

And, since we all know a post with a bunch of words and zero pictures is BOOORING, treat yourselves to this:
(Penny and Jesse standing by our front porch where, let's face it, shall we? My flowers are currently looking quite fantastic.)

(Mike making shakes for the kids.)

(Abe practicing violin with Grandpa Al.)