The virus is coming, the virus is coming!

Paul Revere may have shouted this in 1773, but it's doubtful. Therefore, I shouted it in the streets for him this afternoon. The virus is of the stomach variety. The carrier is Rian. Yikes! He was sick all afternoon. I hope it wasn't from food poisoning at IHOP this morning, but I guess we'll never know. We woke up late, had a late breakfast, ran some errands, then promptly came home for a much needed nap. Errands are tiring, and days off are wonderful things (I'm on Fall Break from school and he took the weekend off as well). After he woke from his nap he was feeling iffy. And then all H E double hockey sticks broke loose. Poor thing. And I'm really not the lovey mothering type. I just don't have much of a "I'm going to take care of you" bone in me. I try, but I'm not good at it (good thing I don't have kids- I'd be awarded the worst mother EVER trophy). I just come along behind with Lysol spray and Clorox wipes and wash my hands eleventy billion times in hopes that I won't catch it and become as miserable as he is.

We're supposed to travel to Palo Duro Canyon in the Texas panhandle tomorrow for a trail race on Saturday. I don't think that's going to happen now (imagine my very frowny face right now). I hope he'll feel better, but it's doubtful. I just hope he gets to feeling better very soon. Being sick is just about the worst thing ever, especially when you're married to the worst wife nurse in the world...