A few weekends ago we all suffered (and I mean, SUFFERED) with the flu. Julian gave it to me, I gave it to Andrew. The only one who did not succumb was little Nora. I had been planning a girl's day out in the big city for months. The arrangements had all been made. Andrew would have a boy's day with Julian, Nanny would take Nora for a sleep over. I would be free to shop, gossip, eat a leisurely meal (with a glass of wine), and drink as many venti vanilla cappuccinos as my heart desired. The day would end with a cocktail at a trendy, upscale restaurant I've been wanting to go to. Sounded magical. That was before the flu hit. On Saturday morning I phoned my girlfriend in the big city to let her know that I was near death, and wasn't planning to leave my washroom for the next month. The next morning I awoke feeling much better. I was thirsty, I was hungry, I was human again. Then Andrew was hit with it. I decided it was best, for our children and our marriage, that I leave the house of yuck and take the children out for some fresh air. I brought them to the park near our house. Unfortunately I had underestimated how bitterly cold it was. Nora was in her stroller, nose running, looking at me like I was completely insane. Julian, on the other hand, was in little boy heaven. Sliding down a soaking wet, icy slide, with no snow pants... We had been out there for what felt like hours. I checked my watch to see if it was (please) time to go back home... I forgot to wear my watch. Luckily I had my cell phone in my pocket.
I open it to check the time. I have a text message. I never have text messages. It is from my girlfriend at the trendy, upscale restaurant in the big city at 10:30pm the night before:
"U should have come. Jude Law is in the lounge."