Thank the good Lord, the miracle elixir has worked its magic upon our boy's dreaded Scarlette Feverre! Junior was his usual sprightly self this morning, jumping about upon his bedsheets, calling for breakfast and for his relieved mother to "smell [his] butt." With pleasure, my son! Okay, not really.
Mercifully, I seem to have escaped the foul pestilence that sickened my son. Father, I am sorry to say, has not fared as well. His eyes are rheumy and red-rimmed; he is racked with aches; there is much coughing and horking and cries of despair, bless him. The medicines still have not taken effect on his person. O! Why has he, among all of us, been so forsaken? I suspected it is his Jewisness, but the man won't convert, stubborn fool!
Tomorrow, I strap on my rucksack and venture forth to find medicinal herbs. I have heard there are some to be found in the Meadowlands.