It’s Like a Horde of Slugs Exploded in Here

Two out of three children are sick with colds in this house. This means one thing, and one important thing only: that I will need to wash and disinfect our entire home, with special attention paid to the following.

  • throw pillows
  • arms of couches
  • two tablecloths
  • shoulders of my t-shirts
  • hems of my t-shirts
  • my pants
  • the quilt on Quinn’s bed
  • Quinn’s shirt sleeves
  • every single item of clothing Cian has worn in the last 72 hours
  • the handtowels, bath towels, and possibly a rug in the bathroom
  • Saoirse’s pet blanket (she is not sick)
  • my hair
  • the dog

I will refrain from grossing you out with the reason for my recent mass purchases of Lysol and bleach. You’ll see all the open boxes of tissues, strategically placed at preschooler-high level, all untouched, and come to your own conclusions, if you dare.

So. If you’ll excuse me, it appears I have to go wring out the cat. Cian decided to give her fur a face-first hug, and well, you know what that means. She’s so shiny now.

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