We have been holed up in our house wearing as many flower barrettes as we can possibly clip into our hair and eating applesauce straight from the jar. Just two crazy girls at home on a sunny afternoon singing songs in Portuguese even though neither of us speaks the language, courtesy of Zoey's daycare provider.
Despite said mystery illness spirits are high. Zoey has been a living breathing ball of finger pointing love, poking me in the eyes as she emphatically says that I am her mommy, offering me tiny rosebud kisses for no reason at all.
I don't really know what I was so afraid of, staying at home with my daughter. So far so good. So good, in fact, that I suspect somebody might have smeared Vaseline on the lens of my family and in 20 years Zoey and I will be walking down the beach together talking about that, you know, not so fresh feeling? Down there? The hems of our jeans will be rolled up and we will be barefoot and then the logo for Masengill will float across the screen, a breeze will whip through my salt and pepper hair and we will both toss our heads back and laugh in slow motion. That's right, things are so halcyon here at Casa Petunia Face that we resemble a commercial for a feminine hygiene product. Itching has never felt so good.