The only upside is that while the rest of my crew's sick kicked in on Saturday, I remained unscathed until mid-day Sunday, so with the hubs and littles flat on their backs, I could indulge my inner-OCD and go all crazy-town on the bookshelves and closets and drawers and pantry... Then on Sunday I embraced the meds, hid out under a blanket, and groggily consumed copious amounts of Mad Men. (I felt like Betty in that labor scene, only instead of caterpillars and deceased parents, I was dreaming of cone bras and whisky and whatnot.) Good times.
And thanks to those tidy bookshelves, I don't even feel guilty. (Well maybe a little bit guilty...)