and instead of having a nice big breakfast made for him by his loving family, Daddy is making me a cup of tea. By all appearances, I have strep throat. So I am not allowed near the stove to make him some pancakes and sausage. The poor guy has to do that himself. He’s not complaining, though; he’s nagging me about what medicine I have already taken and what I should take some more of if I can manage to swallow another pill.
This was supposed to be his day to sit in the recliner (if we had a recliner, which we don’t) and read his paper and relax.
But he’s a great dad a great husband and he’s letting me relax instead, and even making me some tea.