Shortly after I told my daughter the world would not end if she missed school for a few days to recover from the flu, my world ended. I caught the flu. The nasty thing stopped my in my tracks: I was hot, I was cold, ravenously hungry, nauseated, tired,delirious, tired, cold, hot, cold, longing to be unconscious.

So began the week. Armed with the doctor-certified information that my daughter very positively had the flu, we climbed into our foxhole and stayed there. Despite her own high temperature and physical weakness, she was a merciless couch warrior at all things strategic: Junior Monopoly, Blokus, Quorridor, Rummy, even Trouble. She seemed to gain strength from her victories as I declined, though: "You're letting me win, Mom," she said. "No, honey, I'm trying like heck to stay in the game."

We called a truce and departed the board game battleground to fold some doves for Easter. We didn't get too far with that project before we opted for a return to complete laziness, though.

The game was over. After a day of feverish couch sitting, cuddling, and reviewing musicals--Mary Poppins, The Sound of Music, Hello Dolly--and even some Andy Griffith Show reruns on DVD--I realized there was no game. The world did not end. In fact, it went blissfully along without us. If I accomplished nothing, I at least predicted accurately. We still had a world. And, except for some spluttering and earlier-than-usual drooping, we had our health back before very long.

The flu is an awful lot like the occasional power outage that cuts me off from the Internet and from the computer, with which I do my work. We had no power, and we loved it for a good few days. We amused ourselves as a pink and punchy mom-and-daughter team might just as well do because life is short.

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