I spent yesterday and a large swath of Saturday holding a miserably feverish Miriam, miserably feverish myself, and clutching her as a heat source. I've decided we both had influenza of some kind, because it was a lot more miserable than a cold. Not full, horrible, awful, Swine Flu type influenza, more like the awful 'flu I got last year, which only lasted two days. So I spent yesterday on the couch, explaining to concerned children that I would live but that Mim and I were both really sick, while Geoff did all the laundry and the kids who were not sick enjoyed the bounties of Netflix.
Last night Miriam didn't wake me up being miserably feverish and sad, and I actually feel hungry and all the parts of my body, including my hair, have stopped hurting, so I venture to guess we're on the mend.
If we had to be dreadfully horribly ill yesterday was an ideal time to do it, since it was -40C after windchill, -26C before, and no reasonable person wanted to be outside anyway. Far better to sit on the couch mainlining tea and reading internet theological arguments.