For the record: they’re neither sicker nor more cheerful today. I vote that that’s a good sign. Or at least not a bad one. Whatever. No one’s puking; I’ll take it. Moving on.

Abigail requested a salad to accompany our dinner tonight (?!). She insisted that my oil-and-vinegar, mixed-in-a-pyrex-measuring-cup dressing was shockingly fabulous (?!). Owen ate seconds and thirds and sixths; Audrey devoured fistfuls of bean sprouts.

And now all the kids are in bed and Dane is baking chocolate lava cakes, because: what kind of crazy people can eat bowls and bowls of salad (okay, and a few potatoes) and be satisfied until breakfast? I need more calories than that, folks. I’m just saying.