I've been struck down with a fantastic combination of stomach flu and a sore throat, which, at a loss for something clever to say, sucks.
During the worst of it, Erin managed to restrict the chaos of our house to the first floor, which left me time and space to sleep/moan upstairs. I have a vague memory of a mid-afternoon visit by Henry and Jane.
Henry snuck into my room, his stuffed dog Walk Walk held before him. He tip-toed his way towards me, placed the dog gently beside me, and whispered, "I'm not supposed to say anything. I'm being very quiet."
"Thx, bddy," I moaned.
Jane, two steps behind him, approached with her stuffed dog, Blue Puppy. She tip-toed her way towards me, placed the dog gently beside me, stood back, and smiled. Her head cocked to one side, her smile slowly melted to a look of concern.
She picked up the dog. "Mine," she whispered, and walked out of the room.