The Greeks descended on Las Vegas for Thanksgiving weekend and for Chris' Baptism. I thought that Sophie was on the mend from her earlier barfapalooza. She felt fine, but she was obviously still contagious.
So far, she has sickened me, Dimitri, my mother, my father, my sister-in-law, my cousin-in-law (who barfed all over herself in the car on the way back to San Diego, poor dear), my mother-in-law, and my nephew.
So, aside from the widespread fever, vomiting, and intestinal difficulties, the baptism weekend went well. Thanksgiving was good, the women all danced and sang into wooden-spoon-microphones to Neil Diamond. Everyone argued over whether the turkey was cooked enough (it WAS, people.) The baptism, too, went off with only minor hitches. Chris peed all over me, the priest, the priceless hand-carved baptismal font, and quite possibly the front row. The reception was lovely and urine-free. Those who weren't there missed out on really excellent food.
So everyone has left, and it's just us four again. I actually miss the noise and the chaos.