Jessica Fletcher Ate My Lunch

I had thought - stupidly enough - that warmer weather might bring us a break in the nasty viruses that we've had over the winter and apparently that wistful hope was enough to bring a host of viruses down upon me because this is the SECOND straight week in a row that I've been sick, and it's really, really boring by now.

It is - because this is fascinating to talk about, OBVIOUSLY - just a bad cold but it's right on the heels of a bad stomach bug last week and if life was FAIR I should be a pale, slim Victorian girl right now instead of being a rather solid 40 year old mother of three who just happens to be prone to getting sick. "I couldn't possibly eat another pastry," I'd say wanly from my fainting couch, and then someone would insist and so I would. But no, still myself and I've spent most of this week avoiding the internet, napping, and watching reruns of Murder She Wrote.

This blog is about lunches! My children - all two of them who have made it to school this week, anyhow - have obviously not had any great glorious lunches this week, ALTHOUGH one morning I was sick enough that they packed their own lunches. "THEY COULD DO THIS EVERY DAY!" I thought briefly, before rejecting the idea as unworthy or something and then back I went to Jessica Fletcher and her gumball of a  nephew, Brady and my quilt on the couch.

I have no lunch epiphanies to write about this week. I was sick, lunches were made, life went on, my youngest child likes turkey sandwiches with NO CONDIMENTS. No, only bare dry bread and shaved turkey for her and then she squares her shoulders and heads out into the cruel, unpredictable, cooties-filled world.