So Tiffany is getting slowly better. Really it's like a roller coaster ride. She feels good one day, so she gets up and gets around. She does too much, body shuts down, and the next day she rests. So she rests all day and body re-energizes, and, voila!, she does too much the next. A wicked cycle that the tough know about. Me, I don't. I would be the one to sit on my throne and wait out until I am fully recovered. But not Tiffany. She has a household to run, kids that need/want her attention. A husband that needs continuing tutoring in how to run a tight ship. As far as she is concerned, she doesn't have time to recover, her duties never stop.
Add to this that Porter now has a fever (poor guy), which she wants to help, but the last thing she needs is to get sick. But isn't that a mom's job? Aren't they the ones that step in, sacrificing their own well-being for that of their children? She has tried. But alas, I win in this first battle. She has to sleep on the couch tonight! (note - never in our marriage have one of us been forced by the other to sleep on the couch - true story!)
That is because Porter has a croupy cough (note that most mothers probably know how to spell that, know of the Greek origin of the name, understand the symptoms, and have five different treatments, each one with different side effects and outcomes based on the time and place the illness was diagnosed. I am just happy that I think I know how to say it.) The method of treatment Tiffany decided on was sleep, Motrin, humidifier, and a careful eye on his breathing. We have had one too many bouts with this and we don't want another scary trip to the hospital late in the night.
So out comes the humidifier, but that works best in smaller rooms. To have a careful eye would mean he needs to sleep near us. So the Port gets a makeshift bed in our room, while I, who is watching out for Tiffany's health, kicks her out of our room down to the couch. She understands and is a willing participant, but never the less, I win.