a pox upon my house

It all started Wednesday night. Jonah threw up. No, wait. I don't think that gives you a nearly clear enough understanding of what happened. I was here, at my computer desk and, from my bedroom, I heard something like this:

cough, cough, SPLASH! cough, cough, SPLASH!!!

And with that, he'd managed to befoul my bed and all of the bedding from the dust ruffle to the mattress pad. We stripped the bed and put on the backup linens. I don't know how he missed the bed at 3 am, but at least that round involved only mopping with towels.

So, of course, good mother and responsible community member that I am, I kept him home from school on Thursday. He went about his business while I washed load after load after load. But -- here's the kicker -- he was FINE.

As were we all...for about 36 hours.

Friday night, some time around midnight, Andrew woke me with the news that Emily wasn't feeling well. The only problem with that was that being awakened alerted me to the fact that I wasn't feeling all that well, either. I remained involuntarily prone -- sympathetic, mind you, but prone -- and listened to her throw up. Repeatedly. Until it was my turn. About 2:00, we went at it in tandem on opposite sides of the plumbing wall. Eventually she got into my bed, and there we remained, more asleep than not, until about 4:00 Saturday afternoon. For the record, I am so pathetic that I got on the scale in the midst of this, and I was pleased with what I saw. Next blog topic: rejecing Weight Watchers in favor of bulimia: brilliant or maybe not such a good idea?

Sometime Saturday while we slept, Andrew took Jonah -- who by then was completely healthy -- out for something to eat. But, by late afternoon, Andrew was down for the count. I was able to walk, talk, and eat oatmeal by then so, as the more fit parent, I took the handoff. The kids refused to eat, except for some juice and cookies which, as it turned out, was just as well.

Just, As. Well.

See, by then, Jonah had an obvious cold. He was coughing. And, if you're Jonah, coughing only means one thing: STAND BACK, IT'S GOING TO BLOW. And blow it did. All over the upstairs hall. More mopping, More towels. More laundry.

I got it together to teach Sunday School, but Emily stayed home. In the afternoon, Jonah, who was onviously ill by then, took a nap. Emily, who was feeling better, came out to sell girl scout bookies (anyone need any? let me know!) and come with me to the grocery store. But it was clear she was fading. By the time we got home, she curled up on a couch. By 5:00, she was asleep. By 8:00, she was crying because she felt like she needed to throw up again.

At 3:00, an hour ago, she woke me to tell me that she finally had, in fact, thrown up again.

This time, being awakened alerted me to the fact that, while my stomach felt just fine, there was a giant pool of fluid behind my face, and that it fucking HURTS -- yeah, yeah, it's killing you, whatever.

It's snowing here today. There's going to be some kind of weather-related school excitement this morning, I'm sure. It won't affect my kids, who are surely staying home with me. The only question now is whether Andrew gets an extra 90 minutes of sleep before he escapes, or is trapped like a rat in here with the rest of us.

Posted by volfie at January 23, 2006 03:57 AM