We went on a holiday to celebrate my dad’s 70th birthday. It was in Florida, the weather was mostly nice, it was sunny and warm (though not particularly sunnier or warmer than home), and a good time was had by nearly all for most of the trip. There were twenty people present, including six of us under ten, and many of us had come from Europe or similarly far away (us, from California) and the birthday boy was suitably amazed and surprised to see us all there as he’d been swindled into thinking he was having a weekend at a boutique hotel with his partner.
There were the four of us, of course. My half sisters came, battling the storm on the East Coast and multiple plane cancellations but made it nonetheless. There was the aunt and uncle from London who brought three of their grown sons, one bringing his lovely wife, toddler, and 4 month old baby. And also my pretty, slightly scatty cousin whom I haven’t seen for literally years came all the way from Ireland, bringing along her two delightful little girls and a giant dose of the plague which they generously shared with the rest of the family.
Actually, we were fairly lucky during the trip and escaped the worst of it. That was until the last day when Six and I came down with a fever and ceased being interested in living anymore. My fever was a paltry 101 which was unpleasant enough, but his was just over 103 degrees. He lay beside me shivering and boiling and I lay beside him like a limp rag, unable to believe we had to get on a 10 hour plane journey later in the day.
But we did, because there’s nothing worse than being ill and not being at home.
That was a LOOOOONNNNGGGGG flight.
When we got back I thought we’d be better in a couple of days.
But we weren’t. It went on and on and on. And then Husband and Nine got it. All four of us in bed, wishing for death, snotty, sweaty, running out of food and drink and barely able to get to the door let alone the supermarket.
It’s taken over a week for me to get back to I won’t say normal, but perhaps functional. I still feel subpar. Six has recovered and is disgustingly bouncy but Nine is still in bed and has watched so much TV in the last 7 days that I think she could actually direct her own show by now. Husband is shuffling to work in a mournful, Eeyore sort of way and I am wishing I could go to a spa for a month or some other restful vacation.
I think I won’t be going on one of those big family trips again anytime soon, though.
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