Rare Sunshine

After sleeping most of the day yesterday, Martin awakened at 2:30 last night and started rolling around the bed. "I can't get to sleep," he said, waking me, who had been blissfully accepting my first good night's sleep in three or four days. I was not feeling generous.

"Go over to your side of the bed and do finger exercises," I groaned (Martin informed me of this later). "You're like sleeping with a flipping fish."

I do remember feeling a little bad about this response even in my groggy state, and so I said something empathetic, like "So you're having trouble sleeping."

Affirmed.

"I did too after I slept all day," I said.

"What did you do?"

"I lay in bed and thought, It's so much nicer to be awake in the middle of the night and feel good than it was to be awake in the middle of the night and feel awful, and then I just lay there and fell back asleep."

Which, I think, is what Martin did as well, because when we opened our eyes again Beatrix was parting our curtains to say, "It's a sun-up day," and indeed, the sun was lighting up a deep, smooth snow outside our window.

It's a snow day, the children are home from school, and knock on wood, it's the first day in almost a week when we're all well. We celebrated by eating toasted waffles smeared with Nutella and drinking a pot of tea. Martin is like a puppy, bounding around all full of health and gratitude, just as anyone who has slept for over 48 hours and finally recovered feels--so happy to be alive and ready to take on the world again, or at least a shower and real clothes, which is a good start. We will miss the endless reruns of the Munsters, bowls full of Saltines, and salty chicken noodle soup out of a can, but these are sacrifices I think we can make.