We lay in our sick beds, Isabella on the left and I on the right. We ate Halls—two different kinds, and Cepacol—which neither one of us could stomach, really. We sent our daddy and husband to eat dinner on his own while we stayed in the room and tried to watch that new Teen Beach movie that was mostly just Back To the Future meets Grease meets West Side Story. We covered ourselves in extra blankets and then we threw them on the floor, depending on which stage of the sweat/chills/sweat/chills we were feeling.

We put a call in to our Canadian insurance company last night. We found the closest hospital that could give 2/3rds of us a rapid strep test.

Welcome to the second leg of our vacation—Washington DC.

We gave it a good college try and made it through lunch, a museum visit, and even a peek at the White House before things started going downhill. She didn’t want to “miss the Obamas, even if it’s just their house.” It was an important day for this almost third grader, despite the super sore throat, massive headache, and icky low-grade fever.

It could be worse, we realize. Our beds are comfy, our Halls are aplenty, and we have more than one kids’ channel on the giant hotel room TV. And there’s even that whole room service thing.

And we’ll likely never forget Isabella’s first trip to the nation’s capital.

It just means we’ll need to come back with her brother and sister—and do it right. See the actual Obamas and not just their house. And, you know, not have to see the inside of a hospital.

It’s good to dream big. We’re in the right place for it.