I've been valiantly trying to control the spread of germs, but kids are
Somehow, Husband has missed all the fun, timing a trip to Paris with the beginning of the barfing. I'm convinced that he has some sort of sickness radar that triggers an alert to European colleagues to schedule meetings in other cities the minute one of the kids comes down with something. It's OK though, I know who will getting up in the middle of the night to run a kid through the woods to the latrines.
(Ugh, probably me.)
On a bright note, I'm just about to take our friends' French au pair to the tattoo parlor (do they still call it a parlor? Somehow I don't think they do), so I'm pretty sure that nothing can go wrong with that! He's looking for a souvenir of his summer in England, and he'd like me to translate his request to the tattoo-er (tattoo-ist? Despite a totally awesome tramp stamp, I have doubts about my expertise in this area.) How do you say, "I'd like an extra large image of Queen's face in the middle of my back, please?"
I'll let you know how it all goes. Smoothly, I'm sure.