The Night After Christmas and the Family Flu

Sometimes the most memorable Christmases aren’t the picture-perfect ones, but the years when everything falls apart and love holds things together anyway. This is the story of the year the flu came to visit right after Christmas—and how crackers, Gatorade, and a lot of teamwork got us through.

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’Twas the night after Christmas, all peaceful and deep,
Our stockings hung empty, the house fast asleep.
The lights softly shimmered, the hearth gave a sigh,
While snow whispered secrets to stars in the sky.

’Round midnight it started—a twinge and a pain,
A twist in my stomach I couldn’t explain.
I tiptoed off slowly, the floorboards all still,
I said to my husband, “I think I might be ill.”

And I wasn’t alone—two soft feet drew near,
My daughter behind me soon made herself clear.
She followed and whimpered, her cries urgent, strong—
She already knew that something was wrong.

“Oh, sweetheart,” I whispered, though queasy and gray,
“We’re in this together—it’s starting today.”
Her little face wet, her sobs catching fast,
I knew this long night would be sure to pass.

Two more hours rolled by, and then, half past four,
My son padded in through the barely cracked door.
Still sleepy but worried, he frowned, half-convinced,
“Is everyone sick now?”—and then we all winced.

By morning, our room was a whirlwind of care—
Blankets and towels were strewn everywhere.
The tree in the corner still twinkled on cue,
While a water cup army assembled in view.

My husband, though sleepless, laced boots with intent,
Murmured, “Crackers and Gatorade,” and then off he went.
He came back exhausted but noble and true,
His face wind-bitten, but his heart shining through.

Later, with laughter he told me with glee,
The noises I made (embarrassing me!).
Not cruelly, of course—just the way that love leans,
Finding small humor in less-than-grand scenes.

Meanwhile our daughter, though fevered and small,
Was strangely composed through the worst of it all.
So dainty, so sweet in her sickly haze,
Even illness can’t quite dent a toddler’s ways.

And when things got rougher, we had helping hands near—
Grandma and Grandpa, steadfast and dear.
They took on our laundry, our chaos, our chores,
Returning it folded with love through the doors.

Our Black Cat peeked in from the kitchen’s safe line,
Surveying the scene with a gaze most divine.
He blinked, turned around with his usual grace,
And decided, “I’ll check on them later—just in case.”

The day after Christmas was quiet and slow,
With naps and faint smiles in the furnace’s glow.
Two days gone by, and though fevers still nipped,
We were mostly upright, though thoroughly whipped.

By three days post-Christmas, we’d climbed to a cheer—
About eighty percent, though not quite in the clear.
An ache here, a groan and a bit of fatigue,
But hope had returned to the flu-ridden league.

We smiled through the mess, the trials and dread,
Through crackers and Gatorade close to each bed.
It wasn’t the Christmas of bright, shining scenes,
But it was real love—somewhere in between.

So here’s to the chaos that family life knows,
The laughter that follows wherever it goes.
For even when plans fall wildly askew,
We’re rich in the stories that see us all through.

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Have you ever had a holiday completely derailed by sickness, weather, or plans gone sideways? Share your story in the comments—I promise we’ll be over here laughing (and sympathizing) with you.

If this made you smile or feel a little less alone in the chaos of family life, please take a moment to like, share, or subscribe. It helps this little corner of the internet reach more families who appreciate honest, imperfect holidays as much as we do.

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