because both of my kids have the stomach flu.
Like on Christmas and like on New Years.
(OKAY GOD, I WILL FIND A NON-CRAZY CHURCH AND I'LL GO--OKAY?? Can we be cool now? Getting all freaking Old Testament on me here.)
The anniversary was a false start to it all. Just a prequel. People were slightly quiet and pale the next few days but seemed fine. Easter night I went to sleep thinking, "You just ate too much Easter dinner. When you wake up, you won't feel like throwing up anymore so just go to bed."
Then I woke up at 5am as Mr. Ashley prepared to leave town and Easter dinner was back, just like Jesus.
I cleaned up and crawled back into bed and told little kid that no, I couldn't blow up a punch ball. No, I didn't feel like talking about piranhas anymore. No, you can't eat the chocolate bunny for breakfast. No, I cannot blow up that punch ball. No, I don't want you to sit on my back as I sprawl out on the bed. No, please don't slap me on the stomach repeatedly and say "That's a good mama. THAT'S A GOOD SICK MAMA. POOR MAMA!" at increasing frequency in my ear as I lay there halfway between asleep and awake. No, I CANNOT AND WILL NOT BLOW UP THAT PUNCH BALL AND IF YOU ASK ME ONE MORE TIME I WILL GET UP AND GO OUTSIDE AND THROW IT AWAY IN THE GARBAGE BIN. Yes, you can have the chocolate bunny for breakfast. Yes, you can pour yourself some juice all over the counter. Give me the punch ball, give me the punch ball right now!! NO I AM NOT GOING TO BLOW IT UP--all punctuated with dry heaving and cold flashes.
I seriously thought about pinning a check to his shirt with a note and dropping him off at school for the entire extended care day (they don't allow that) because I doubt they would've called the police and it would have been worth it. I love him but, damn, he is no fun during the stomach flu.
Now they're both throwing up on floors and mattresses and having major potty problems and that's even less fun. Yesterday I had a raging fever and headache and was scrubbing toilets and wiping puke off the ground and changing sheets and pillowcases. I have been inside of the house for most of a week. The house does not smell good. The laundry may actually fall over on one of us and cause injuries. It's not a good scene.
And my poor sick boys. One has fallen asleep watching a documentary about treasure and the other is quietly reading a comic book, all toys and candy ignored and forgotten.
So, who wants to place bets on Mr. Ashley being sick in time for the anniversary cruise?