Brian and I arrived home late Sunday night from a long weekend away for work. We hugged the boys and Monday started before we knew it. I had a productive day, working late into the night, until 11:30 when I was hit by a freight train. Like whoa. Some mean ol’ stomach bug, bigger and badder than any I’ve come up against before, decided my tummy was it’s new home.
This week was a blur of puking and naps and crackers and attempting in vain to refrain from whining. At some point Grrr came down with pink eye and then Little M caught my stomach bug and Brian developed a serious sore back from sleeping on the couch to avoid catching anything.
And now it’s Friday. The world kept on turning, my inbox grew, new projects came in, current projects waited patiently for me to return, and my boys showed what awesome cuddlers and care takers they’re growing up to be.
I don’t think I mentioned it, but our Thanksgiving was pretty awful. Another stomach bug hit the family, pretty much all at once. It started with Grrr puking on my pillow in the middle of the night and it was all downhill from there. We had to cancel all our plans and call my mom to bring us supplies because there was no way either of us could make it all the way to the grocery store without “incident”. Our Thanksgiving meal was a limited spread of applesauce and toast. It was at 2am Thanksgiving morning, when the boys woke up within 10 minutes of each other puking in their beds that I turned to Brian and said “Thanksgiving? More like Pukesgiving. What do we have to be thankful for???”
I blame it on the sickness.
And as a stomach bug wrecked havoc in our family once again, I found myself in a much more thankful mood. Thankful for a financial situation that can handle a few sick days here and there. Thankful for This American Life to entertain my mind when my eyes couldn’t handle the light. Thankful for a husband that can care for our children without hesitation. Thankful for said husband to happily retreat to the couch in an attempt to avoid getting sick too. Thankful that Little M has finally reached the age where he can hold out long enough to find a bucket, sink, or toilet before letting the sickness overtake him. Thankful that when you ask a sick Little M how he’s feeling, his response is very simply, “Not awesome.”
In the midst of all this, the paper whites I bought as a birthday present to myself bloomed and they are so beautiful. They also smell like piss. Excuse my language, but they’re really that disgusting. I’d just throw them out or give them to the neighbors because I don’t need another thing making me nauseous right now, but Little M helped me plant them and is SO. DAMN. EXCITED. that they’ve finally bloomed. So they’re here to stay.
Now nobody can say I’m not the best mom in the world. This is serious sacrifice going on. Maybe I deserve a medal?