Emily vomited last Saturday night. Don’t know where that came from. But it was fast and she felt fine soon thereafter. Yay!

Marli didn’t feel too hot on Monday night. She had a bad case of the shivers but managed to go to sleep without losing her lunch. She waited until the next morning to vomit on her way to the airport. Boo!

It was probably around that time Tuesday that I was vomiting my guts up on the first leg of our Barcelona-Madrid-Miami flight. The second leg of the journey saw my second vomit session. Those airplane barf bags are surprisingly resilient. I was totally zonked out for most of the trip and wasn’t able to help with the kids very much (poor Jan) but the whole thing was out of my system in less than 24 hours, so yay!

My mom’s husband, Phil, vomited all day yesterday. But get this, this is the good part: while Phil was tossing his cookies quarantined in the bedroom, my mom was catering a Chanukah dinner for the entire family in the living room. Yup, 14 people eating latkes in the same house as warmed-over death. It doesn’t take Columbo to figure out where this one goes from here.

My Nana, with whom we’re staying, just forcefully upchucked for the second time this evening. Shit. And we hear another cousin may have been ravaged by the devil, as well. Our plan is to get the heck out of town as fast as humanly possible before Jan or Sebastian get zombified (Emily and I feel strangely immune, having already battled through this). But we also want to stick around to make sure Nana gets well soon. So we’re kinda stuck. Here’s hoping this is nothing more than the same 24-hour bug we’ve already suffered through. The good news is that we’re running out of family members to get sick! Why does it seem like someone (or various people) gets deathly sick every time we travel to either The States or to England? Why?