Christmas morning: eight o clock: it started fine, like most catastrophes usually do. Ok, so this isnt a <i>catastrophe</i> persay, but it certainly isnt pleasant. Perhaps we should go back to Christmas morning: two o clock, and if we do, then i guess you could safely say that it did <i>not</i> start out fine. Naturally, since this <i>isnt</i> a catastrophe. Two o clock this morning is when I finally put my head down and <i>tried</i> to sleep after having a very serious allergic reaction to my dog, who has been borrowing my bed for the duration of our vacation (one week, for those of you who dont know). Also for people who arent acquanted with my family, pets, vacations, and sundry, here is a little tid bit for you: my dog, although very sweet and docile, is hairy. And she sheds. Alot. Fast forward one miserable hour of tossing and turning: three o clock, christmas morning, or thereabouts, when I actually lost conciousness for a whopping, blessed five hours. Which brings us to eight o clock, christmas morning: present time. Also known as the time when my brothers excitement reaches full capacity, and he can no more sit in front of the tree and look longingly at the gifts then he could swear off Christmas presents all together. Thankfully, by this time, my allergies had subsided, fallen to the wayside. But the trouble is just beginning. We open presents, we're all a little sniffly, including my mother and father who have had a bit of a cough for about three days. We mill about for several hours, my mother gets progressively worse, and I notice a new complication, a particularly nasty bug has decided to rear its ugly head in lieu of the fact that I have just returned from the glorious nation of Mexico, I have contracted what the natives like to call Montezumas Revenge. Let that little monicker sink in for a while. I wont go into details about what havoc this can wreak on ones digestive system, but rest assured, it is not fun. Meanwhile, my mother is getting sicker and sicker and sicker, and my father is already sick. And grandma has contracted a different gastro intestinal bug (it cant be montezumas revenge, because she has not been to mexico, and drank the water), but she assures me that it is not pretty either. Christmas Day: ten thirty at night. I am holding a blanket over my mother and the hot pot in an effort to steam her lungs into submission whilst pleading with my GI system to just hold out for a little while longer so I can make sure my mother isnt going to die. And i've just started to sneeze again, God help me. If my mother gets any worse, and my father with her, I swear im taking them to the hospital because I cannot, CANNOT do steam duty, and regular duty at the same time. I'm sorry, I am not super nurse healer woman. Why lord? Why?