Both chilluns still sick. Both stayed home (cue sound of hair being torn out) and were rambunctious and fractious and ready-to-go-back.
Or so we thought until nine pm tonight, when Rosey woke up with a full-volume wail and then vomited copiously over everything in a five foot radius. (Me, the cat, her floor)
Her fever has been flashing on and off like a neon sign in Vegas and after trying her on Gravol the down-the-throat way (she threw that up on the dog - why yes, I have been bathing everything and one in sight, why?) we pulled out the big guns and used the suppositories.
We've used them before on her, but this time I had to explain the whole thing. And she hated it. (Of course, wouldn't you?) And after I helped her pull up her pants and she'd given me a long, cool look of derision she trotted off to the livingroom to tell her father what horrible, degenerate thing her mother had forced her to go through...
'Daddy! I had to have a suppose-story! She (complete with pointing outraged finger) did it!'