Poor Caitlin. She's on the couch, curled up under a blanket. She has a low-grade fever, and she threw up in the front yard as we returned from dropping Caroline at dance camp. Now that I'm thinking about it, this little bug/virus/whatever may be throwing a serious wrench into this afternoon's plans. I mean, they weren't great or anything (1pm yoga class followed by library excursion), but at least it was a couple of hours out of the house. The kiddie kare at the YMCA frowns upon bringing febrile children...maybe this is a big cosmic sign telling me that it's finally time to bust out the vacuum cleaner and get to work. Bummer. I always want the big cosmic sign that tells me to go shopping or something fun, but housework?