Jelly Woodyette has returned to her natural, bouncy self. This is a good thing (I tell myself) because it means that Mrs. Woody no longer has to wake up at all hours to see if her fevers have spiked again, or to make sure she's still breathing okay.
She woke up (having slept the clock around!) a little past noon yesterday, and after a somewhat slow start was off like a rocket. Literally. I can show you scorch marks on the various walls off which she bounced throughout the remainder of the day.
Curiously, noise levels increased exponentially through the day yesterday. The Woodyettes, having been separated in play by Jelly's blasted virus, were making up for lost time. It was the sort of thing that made us both happy that Jelly is recovering nicely, but also made us a little wistful for the shapeless blob lying listlessly on the couch. But only a little.
This offset the fact that Daddy himself woke up not feeling terribly bright and fearing that it was his turn at the Misery Bar. Between that, a fortnight of illness and pestilence, and a house that looked like one of Florida's hurricanes had made a quick detour, I had had enough. I declared a down-day yesterday, and got to work.
[Before I get snarky comments from those who wish to point out that I was, technically, in violation of Sabbath Day observances, let me quickly state that I don't care. You invite the Spirit when your house looks like Jerusalem after the Babylonians got there.]
The presence of a nasty headache slowed me down somewhat, but I dived into the family room and began straightening. Mrs. Woody, who shares my attitude in the "we've had enough blech around here" department, got motivated herself and pitched in with laundry and the dining room. We had the girls help out here and there, and between us we got the house in much better shape by the end of the day. In between times, when Daddy really needed to sit for a few moments (or was looking for an excuse to do so, anyway), I began transferring videos of my past theatrical exploits onto DVD. The time has come for us to take advantage of the technology and get these tapes transferred onto a somewhat more stable medium. So, whilst raising the decibel level of the house to somewhere around "spinal decalcification," the Woodyettes would occasionally stop to watch the shows. "Daddy!" they said. "You're silly!"
Everyone's a critic.