It was a glorious dream.
A lovely, wonderful, rose-pink bubble sort of dream.
Ellie popped it.
It wasn't really her fault; I can't accuse her of going out and getting sick on purpose just to rob me of my morning off. And no one invents 103 degree fevers just for the fun of the thing. But there she was, at home, in the middle of my day off, exerting undue influence on what was going to be watched on tv. Actually, who am I kidding? I'd probably have spent the whole morning watching Pixar movies anyway, but she wouldn't let me watch The Incredibles, which I found upsetting.
Anyway, this was her morning:
She watched Cars, and then some episodes of various pink-washed television shows.
She supervised me while I folded and put her clothes away.
She sat on the couch and watched me iron my clothes for the week and made comments about how it would be nice if I ironed Daddy's clothes too. And she's right. It would have been. But I spent an hour ironing mine, and that was really all I had.
She's a bit better this morning (woke up with a temperature of 99) and is spending the day at her grandmother's house, no doubt harassing her about her laundry practices.