Not to complain, but I think I’ve discovered the most miserable thing to have happened to Chase & I since we’ve been married.
We both got sick at the same time.
Oh-my-goodness-gracious. Never again will I let this happen.
Surprisingly we haven’t gotten on each other’s nerves with our constant “I don’t feeeeeeel good,” (because you know those extra ee's make it sound so much more believable) or “Honey, can you get me more medicine while you’re up?” Chase didn’t even get mad on Monday when I got home at 4:30, slept on the couch until 8:30, and went back to bed at 10. But that’s probably because he got home at 6 and went to our bedroom and slept until 8:45 when I had to force him to wake up.
That is so not like him.
We are gradually on the mend, but fortunately, we didn’t get the worst of it.
Unfortunately, my house did.
Last Thursday you could have come over to my house and would have probably been amazed at how clean it was.
If you were to come to our house tonight, I’m not sure you would even be able to walk through the living room. I took pictures last night of the living room and the kitchen and the absolute disorder it has come to be in because you wouldn’t believe me if I told you (of course I left my camera at home though). Here’s a couple of examples:
I walked into the living room yesterday and tripped over the trashcan. The big trashcan that goes in the kitchen. In the middle of my living room floor.
I also went to make Chase a peanut butter sandwich. That should take like 5 seconds, but when you have to retrieve the bread from the TV tray in the living room that’s been out all week, and the peanut butter jar has somehow hidden itself in one of the blankets on the couch, it takes a little longer than usual.
It’s a disaster.
And you know what?
I don’t even care.