You may notice the lack of people in these weekend snaps. Save for that glimpse of my snakeskin pointy toes, there's not even an errant kiddo arm or chubby cheek (which is usually my weekend post M.O.) I blame said absence-o-humans on the flu. All four of us are down for the count... We're like a real-life NyQuil commercial around here. There's sniffling, sneezing, coughing, stuffy heads, fever, and, yes, restlessness. Friends, it's a bad scene.

The only upside is that while the rest of my crew's sick kicked in on Saturday, I remained unscathed until mid-day Sunday, so with the hubs and littles flat on their backs, I could indulge my inner-OCD and go all crazy-town on the bookshelves and closets and drawers and pantry... Then on Sunday I embraced the meds, hid out under a blanket, and groggily consumed copious amounts of Mad Men. (I felt like Betty in that labor scene, only instead of caterpillars and deceased parents, I was dreaming of cone bras and whisky and whatnot.) Good times.

And thanks to those tidy bookshelves, I don't even feel guilty. (Well maybe a little bit guilty...)