It’s been quite a while since we made a post, and I’ll tell you why. We’re sick. Coughing, sneezing, whining sick. We’ve been taking turns, catching this cold, mutating it like an Avian flu, and giving it back to each other. It seems to be in its last iteration this week, but I’ve thought that before.

Amidst epic coughing fits, we’ve done all these amazingly productive things. Got a bed! Got a storage system for the back sunroom! Saw two potential wedding locations! Hosted a dinner party! Introduced Sandy’s dad and his wife to my parents!

Last night, as I hacked it out in the other room, Sandy even sniffled his way to a major poker tournament victory — his first, I believe.

As the haze of illness clears, however, a grim prospect awaits me. Between returning to Ikea for the inevitable missing pieces of our new cabinet and scouting more wedding locations, I think we’re going to have to take another trip out to the ‘burbs.

Every time we take one of these adventures, he last for a few hours, before he rubs his eyes, takes a deep breath, looks up at me, and says, “baby, my soul is dying.” Last weekend, his soul dying trumped even my coughing/hiccup extravaganza in the who-drives-home negotiations.

So if anyone knows of a restored barn with lovely rustic outdoor space that’s in the city, please let me know. It would be quite the bummer if we had a lovely wedding in Libertyville or wherever, but I ended up with a zombie husband.