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Steve and I seem to be passing some sort of Mystery Illness back and forth, or some such craziness. It all started last week sometime, when Steve wasn't feeling so great. Nothing he could really put his finger on - - just a squirrely stomach. By last Thursday, he felt bad enough that he called in sick to work, which is something that he NEVER does. Never. Ever. I got into bed that Thursday evening and suddenly felt horrid. Really awful. I woke up the next morning and didn't feel great, but I got on with my life. So then we went to Oregon. All was well for the weekend. Things took a turn for the worse Tuesday night, again, after we'd gone to bed. I'll spare you the gory details, but will share that at one point in the night, I woke up on the floor in the bathroom. It wasn't pretty. It was the closest I've ever come to breaking my "no barfing streak" (think: the Seinfeld "black and white cookie" episode), but instead of Jerry's eight-year streak, I've been going strong since age 8 - - yes, 27 years. I'm convinced this streak has unfortunately contributed to my completely irrational fear of vomit (you may recall me mentioning this during Camden's Barf-o-Rama last year). Oh well. I made it through the night in one piece, but have felt sub-par ever since. Steve called this afternoon and now he feels sick again. Thank goodness the kiddos are fine (knock wood). I'm determined to wake up tomorrow and feel normal - - mind over matter, I am telling myself. Earlier today I was thinking, "Darn it, I don't get 'sick days' anymore", but at this point I am happy to have these boys to distract me!