We've had a stomach bug going through our family. Phoebe and I have formed an alliance and have avoided getting any of the major sicknesses that have threatened our well-being since mid-October.
Last week my Facebook status described a phenomenal five minutes, in which a glass jar of marinara exploded in our kitchen. It didn't fail to splatter our white walls or land in shoes and briefcases. It was amazing. Ninety seconds into cleaning that up, I heard a cough behind me. Mind you, it was 10:30 p.m. Our oldest had thrown up IN HIS SLEEP. He was covered in the puke version of tomato bisque. (The bisque has been taken off the rotation until next winter, I can assure you.) This meant that there was a twin-sized mattress amount of vomit waiting for us in his room. Thanks to my sacrificial husband, I was able to stay focused on the marinara and kid care while he dealt with the real mess.
About a week later, it was Jillian's turn. Because of my volunteer commitments at school, I missed most of her puking spells. (Thank you, Jesus.)
Yesterday, I called Brent at work and it went straight to voicemail. Hm. "...I am ill and will be out indefinitely..." Oh. He stumbled through the door and headed for bed only to eek out in a whisper, "pajamas."
A few hours later, the boys came home from school. Avery announced that Miles was sick. Miles insisted, "I'm not sick. I don't have a temperature." To which I asked, "Do you feel achy?" "yes." "Does your stomach hurt?" "yes." hm. "You're sick, Miles." He didn't say much, but I won that argument when I found him hurling on the carpet an hour later. Good thing we STILL haven't replaced the orange, commercial-grade carpet from 1962 in the family room. I just had to ask, "Did you eat your carrots at lunch." Clueless of the irony, he answered, "yes."
"I know," I said as I cleaned up the puke version of carrots.
One of the perks of puking in our family, is the refreshment of Gatorade. We had one 32 ounce bottle. Liquid gold, you could call it. Jillian found it and poured half onto the floor. (You can pick her up at the pound.)
Avery thought this was a good time to ask, "Can I have some Gatorade?" "No." "But, I didn't get any when I was sick." "That's because we didn't have any."
rummage, rummage, rummage.
His search paid off. He found a who-knows-how-old package of MIXADE (that's right. the generic of Kool-aid...because real Kool-aid is so expensive, right?) "Can you make this?" "Fine." So Mixade became the backpay for lack of Gatorade. Jillian found that this morning and poured half of the Mixade on the floor.
It was PBS or the pound for Jillian. I chose PBS. I guess Jesus DOES love her...