This weekend, I had planned on making a few Valentine’s Day crafts with my monkeys but instead, we got hit by the flu. My little one brought it home — from school, I am guessing — and spent Thursday night throwing up. Friday evening around 7pm, I said, “hmmm, not feeling too well here,” and suddenly, my husband and I were racing for the bathroom. Thank goodness we have two. Because we started our own Olympic sport — Synchronized Puking.
For the next 8 hours we’d each run to a bathroom (me in the hallway, he in the master bedroom) and I’d hear the doors close, the toilet lids go up, and we’d start sounded like whales being harpooned during a mating call or something.
On Saturday, my in-laws took our oldest in an effort to spare him, but apparently he was already incubating the virus so they brought him home, and spent the next 8 hours puking.
Sunday morning (which is when I am writing this) I think (hope, pray) we are over the puking, but my ribs hurt like someone took a bat to them. Boys are watching TV on the sofa, my husband is sleeping in our room, and I am doing dishes and laundry. Because all those cups with Pedialyte and Ginger Ale piled up, and because while the grown-ups know to contain their barf in the toilet, the little ones just let loose where they may. Although my oldest has been so good, he reached for his bowl every time, but still, we had blankets and towels all over the sofa for them to sleep on, so we have no clean towels at this point.
I hope the plague doesn’t hit your house, and if it does, may you get over it soon. It is horrible. I wish you (and us) a much better week!