It has returned… or never left.
Happy virus has been lurking somewhere in our home that my entire can of Lysol missed over the weekend.
After dropping off my oldest two at jazz band at 7:00 a.m., I returned to this terrible cry from my 7-year-old.
“Mo-o-om!! (always three-syllables when there’s trouble)
“I woke up and my stomach hurt! And I threw up in the toilet! And I wanted to lay on the couch! And I can’t get off the stairs! And my legs don’t want to move! And I don’t know how I can go to school!!!”
She had a fever. She was delirious.
Just the comfort of my hands under her armpits gave her the will-power to pick herself up and get down to the couch.
I hate the smell, the sounds, and the sight of vomit. I’ve seen too much.
That being said… my dear husband has taken pity on me over the past (nearly) four weeks of caring for sickies, including himself, and he is sending me away.
Far, far away!
To a place of endless sunshine, blooming flowers, and where storm systems are not allowed to wreak havoc on lame joints.
Oh yes. Camelot.
He’s keeping the kids and my cell phone so they can’t even call me!
(Otherwise, every 15 minutes I get “Hi, Mom. Where’s my crayons?” or “Have you seen my socks?” or “So-and-so won’t share” or the best, “Dad said I can’t…” and they think I’ll fix it.)
So, farewell my friends until next time. I must pack and board my plane soon. Tah-tah!