I awoke in the night with my throat on fire and a headache fit for, well, no one. After a dose of Nyquil I slept again, but woke with the dawn knowing the wretched truth: I had a cold and the Snot Not Christmas was over.
Being the day after Christmas, and a Saturday to boot, I took only moments to decide that staying in bed all day would be the wisest and loveliest thing I could do. So I hobbled out to where the guys were engaged in various activities and croaked my intentions.
Since then I have been treated to breakfast in bed by Boy 2, coffee and other needs checked on throughout the day by Boy 1, and the lovely sounds of Mark finishing up the renovations of my office across the hall. I have enjoyed two long naps, and my waking hours have been spent with Ben Witherington III's socio-rhetorical commentary on Acts.
I have felt no twinge of guilt or sense that I should be getting things done. No one has asked or begged me for anything. So while the Snot Not Christmas is gone, I find this was a rather lovely way to spend the day after.
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