This weekend I took Steve away to Chute Lake, a little resort not too far away where we spent our honeymoon and a few anniversaries since then. Originally I was going to surpise him with this getaway, but alas, I am incapable of keeping my pie hole closed and I spilled the beans over a month ago. Anyways, I got us all packed up, and what actually took the longest was packing for Avelyn, who was going to be spending the night at her grandparents’ house. Between her playpen, clothes, blankets, bottles, liners, milk in baggies, diapers and a schwack of toys, the car was fully loaded when I dropped her off. I am told she was on her best behaviour in our absence and that she slept through the night like a good little girl. I am so thankful for loving grandparents who are so eager to spend time with our little one (thanks so much, Grandpa Bob and Granny Sue!).

So, I thought I had all our gear ready: hot chocolate, laptop and movies, cozy bedding, and what not.

“Are you ready to go, Steve?” I called to my man who was outside in the yard.

“Yeah, I just have to load up the Mule,” he called back.

Pardon me? The Mule? The glorified golf cart that you drive around the orchard all day? With four wheel drive and crazy clearance so we can go off-roading and DIE IN THE WILDERNESS?

Awesome.

I kept my mouth shut; this was his birthday weekend so he should be able to do as he pleased. Here I was thinking we would be spending the night cuddling in the cabin while the fire crackled nearby, sipping cocoa and basking in our love.

We did end up doing that, but not before we took the Mule out for the Journey of Death wherein we high-centred it on a massive boulder, skidded around on icy “trails” (please note the loose use of that term) and got stuck on one particularly snowy hill climb that had us revving the engine so bad and me pushing the blasted mobile from behind.

THEN we came in and cuddled.

It was fun, just not my kind of fun.

Owell, it’s all about the memories. I was a good sport and just held on for dear life as we blazed through the forest.

When I woke up the next morning I felt kind of funny. A few hours into the morning it was clear that I was coming down with something and ended up running a fever of 101 degrees, feeling nauseous, having the runs, and just feeling really crappy. I tried to sleep it off but at the end of the day was still unable to peel myself from our couch. I took some Nyquil and laid down for what would prove to be a fitful rest fraught with explosive diarrhea and the feeling that I had been run over by the Mule while I slept.

I am feeling a bit better today. My fever is gone and I am coming out of the haze.

Good thing, too, because Jen is arriving tomorrow and we have a busy schedule planned which includes dining at Boston Pizza, Pizza Hut, and also making cinnamon buns.

The weight I’ve lost in the past few day of being sick will find its way back to me, I’m sure.