Sickos and Sandwiches

It's been wicked hot the last couple of days, and it hasn't helped that we've had kiddos running some pretty significant fevers. L started shaking and quaking in church on Sunday (and we don't even go to that kind of church). When we got her home she was running a fever of 102.5°F. She continued to radiate the rest of the night with the fury of a million burning suns, of course wanting to cuddle up with Mommy and Daddy who were already quite sticky and bitter at the general ambient temperature to begin with. It lasted all day Monday and finally broke around 2am last night, again while cuddled up next to her perspiratorily penalized parents.

This morning she was a creature returned to her right mind, but that's only because the fell demon of trembling had only relocated one bed over. So now all day long N has been quaking and shaking, whining and fussing, and generally in need of an exorcism. You know he's sick when he asks to go to bed at 6:00.

We took his temperature. Wow!



OK, so maybe the demons of Photoshop have been joining in the fun, but it was still a little high.

Too hot to make dinner, Stacy subcontracted the job out to me so I swung by the store and got all the fixings for mongo sandwiches. Mounds of turkey, beef and salami, tucked in with tattered blankets of Swiss cheese, slathered with mayo, mustard and horseradish, bedecked with lettuce from our garden, red onion, and some fairly cardboardesque tomatoes; a drizzle of olive oil and wine vinegar and a dusting of salt, pepper, oregano and thyme. All this, as one might say, "sandwiched" between a huge loaf of bisected french bread. Perfection!

L, obviously intimidated by Daddy's handiwork.