That was interesting: 11 people, two more people essentially in the home all the time, one bathroom, two varieties of gastrointestinal virus (one going up, the other going down).
The highlight of the weekend was one of those stories that will go down in family lore.
My art-loving brother Jeff was holding our new nephew Matthew during the naming portion of the bris ceremony, after the cutting. I was standing next to him. Jeff mumbled to me, “I think I feel faint.” I believed him, but I didn’t catch the urgency of his situation – he meant “I think I’m going to faint.”
He went pale. He went sweaty. He dropped to one knee. Most people thought he was being… – oh, ceremonious.
Jeff didn’t pass out. But we did take the kid from him and sat him down in a comfy chair. Ten minutes later, he was still sweating.
Over the course of the weekend, grandparents, cousins, and Children Two and Three all vomited. Everybody made it to the lone toilet or a bag except, the last time, in the car on the drive home from Toronto. I was not quick enough with the bag from front seat to middle, and Child Three spewed Child One and me with relatively inoffensive yet virus-laden ex-Nestea iced tea.
Has my immune system trained in the past to fight this virus? Has it wrestled a newcomer virus to the ground? Or will I succumb? Stay tuned….
Is it just because I’m getting old that I thought Helen Mirren was kinda hot at the Oscars?