Emergency Head-Transplant

Down here in Oz it seems everyone and their dog has the flu. We've managed to avoid the full on leurgy (touch wood) but we've got the head sniffles. I think I just agreed my Beloved could do whatever random degree it is he's got his heart set on when he finishes the two he's doing at the moment, in return for an emergency head-transplant, or at least some Panadol.
My Poppet is feeling miserable and wants nothing so much as to curl up with Mummy and nurse for hours and hours and hours and hours. I want nothing so much as to not have a little one crawling over me demanding "This side! Other side! Please, Mama!" Digging cold little fingers down my top and using my throat as a convenient place to dig in an elbow to commando to the otherside. I try to say no, later, and she howls like the world is coming to an end. And it's all my fault.
All is not lost: Kindle to the rescue. A click and voila. Help is at hand. Wildwood Dancing by Juliet Marillier is taking me far, far away. Now for a lemon honey drink & to herd the kids away from the TV and into the garden.