The Post Within Which I Correlate Weather Patterns and Rose Mofford’s Hair

Rose Mofford
Rose Mofford

If there were a hidden microphone around our house the last few days this is what would be recorded:


“Honey, do you want to *cough, cough* do that *cough, cough*… nevermind.” {snore}


“Daddy! My tummy hurts. Like a lot…” {puke}


I don’t know exactly what we’ve contracted but it hasn’t been pretty around the OK Corral. We’ve got phlegm, mucous, bile and vomit in abundance, patience and gentleness in short supply.


This morning I woke up about two hours earlier than normal because I couldn’t stop coughing. When I stumbled into the kitchen I discovered a distinct last of coffee – which is the closest thing to a natural disaster I can imagine that doesn’t involve precipitation, great splits of the earth, or wind velocities that would tamper with Rose Mofford’s hair.


And that’s the end of that. Hope to be back tomorrow with better *cough, cough* news. {puke}



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