I’ve sunk down into the depths of a stomach bug and re-emerged a lighter, more cleansed version of myself. There’s nothing worse than that moment of sickness when you think the rest of your life will be spent laying on the couch, moaning with nausea. I pictured holidays, birthdays, Ruthie’s wedding, with me in the exact same position, the couch being the only thing moved. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a couch as the first pew with me grabbing my stomach and hurling in between vows.

But then one night you actually have a full night’s sleep, and you start to hope.

Well, it’s over. And I’ve spent the last two days giving make up kisses to Ruthie for the ones I had to sacrifice in the name of hygiene. She’s learned a new tactic for deflecting them though.

It’s the ole “hold a book in front of my face” technique. I’m so happy she’s reading, that it doesn’t dawn on me I just got denied.

This particular refusal was brought to me by a Mark Twain classic: A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. I left her to it, which may have been a mistake, because apparently she thinks King Arthur is real and that people still act kingly.

…as demonstrated when her friend Blanche came over one day.

I saw them talking in front of Ruthie’s new favorite chair… that conveniently looks like a throne.

Awww, I thought, Ruth’s showing her how the fabric on this throne was made by a local weaver.

And then she had Blanche help her up.

Okay, I thought. She’s showing Blanche how to sit on thrones.

Followed by: Oh. My. Gosh. RUTH. It is NOT a throne. You can’t make people bow down to you. I mean, at least let her be a lady-in-waiting.

Poor Blanche. If this is a sign of how Ruthie plays with other kids, I’m in for a long, scary road.

As I discussed with the girls about equal opportunity in the work force, Ruthie gave me the once over.

And I looked down at myself.

Why am I wearing a bright pink satin nightgown?

While Ruth debated about throwing me in the stocks, I begged for her forgiveness of my garish clothing.

She agreed that I’d be spared if spaghetti were served.

And so this is how an Arkansas Housewife survived Queen Ruth’s Court.

PS, sorry for the such granulated photos. They were taken on my phone and I apparently don’t know how to let in natural sunlight to help mitigate it.