I typically write this column on Wednesday evening. I’ve been known to write it on the way to work Thursday morning (mostly on the days Paul drives) (kidding – *only* on the days he drives - I can’t get the iPad to fit on my steering wheel). It’s due to my editor by 11 on Thursday morning. Ideally I should write it earlier in the week, but there is very little about my life I do according to the “ideal” these days. For instance, it’s 3:49 Thursday morning and here I am writing in the dark. I got up to get a drink, realized I had forgotten to write, and well, here I am.

I did end up getting the flu last week. I know, I know, I said I’d politely decline, but it was rather pushy and didn’t really give me a choice. Thursday evening Paul and I ran to Lowe’s after dinner to pick up trim for the kids’ house. I felt fine. I was bored to tears because he wouldn’t let me go look at the pretty stuff because we had to be all responsible and stuff, but felt fine. On the way home I started feeling cold and just attributed it to being utterly exhausted. When we got home I went straight to the shower and by the time I got out was chilling so hard my teeth rattled. Ever the optimist, I was still convinced I was just worn out. Paul came to bed and said, “Uhm…dear? Did you convert our bed to one of those you put a quarter in? Because it’s shaking like crazy…..ohhhhhh that’s you.” I slept under seven layers of blankets all night. I didn’t even throw a few off in a hot, hormonal fit around 2 a.m. like usual. I rolled out of bed around 8, drank a cup of coffee, went to the recliner, and spent the entire day watching The Food Network and The Cooking Channel because HGTV was apparently in cahoots with the flu and played nary a single episode of my beloved “Fixer Upper” all day. Instead of fevery shiplap dreams, I drifted in and out to Guy Fieri and Alton Brown all day. It wasn’t nearly as gratifying as watching Chip pester Joanna - considering Alton made bread pudding and I don’t really eat bread or sweets anymore - but I did decide somewhere around a fever of 104.1 that Paul and I are opening a breakfast café and bakery.

Due to God’s unending grace and mercy, my flu experience didn’t last long. My fever broke sometime overnight that night and I was able to stay mostly awake the next day. I was exhausted and achy, but definitely better. The grandgirls and I watched A LOT of Blue’s Clues and some trippy nursery rhyme show on Netflix which frankly gave me the creeps, but we managed. I’m still coughing and wear out easily nearly a week later, but I survived.

We have moved about 2/3 of the kids’ stuff out of their storage unit and into their house. I spent all day yesterday putting her kitchen together. It should be really interesting when she starts cooking because she has no idea where I put anything. My darling sister watched the girls so we could work as hard as we could all day. It proved productive. And because nothing in this endeavor can go off without a hitch, we discovered two shelving units got water damaged in storage and their washer and dryer have rust on them due to water, but the owner of the storage unit is working with the kids to get it taken care of. When we saw the damage we didn’t even get all that upset. Either that means we’ve grown and matured through this experience or we’re so beaten down we don’t care. Or we’re all just flat crazy now and we expect life to be this way forever and ever. For instance, none of us even emoted when we saw snow in the forecast for Friday night. There's a fine line between mature and crazy, I think.

Born a semi-diva and married to a redneck, through the magic of osmosis or just because of a serious lack of sophistication over the years, Kristin Hoover has found a balance of the two that makes her what she is today.