Well, friends, I figured now is as good a time as any to slink back to my blog, blushing and apologizing profusely for my interupptus unexpectedi (I’m sure that’s real Latin).
Let’s see…I just picked up Boy #3 from school, the fourth member of our household to catch the most violent vomiticious virus we’ve ever had, my house literally looks like a pack of raccoons lives here AND I turn 41 on Sunday. Yep, now’s as good a time as any…
Starting with the vomiting, which I’m sure, after not hearing from me for several months, is what you are DYING to read about. But, hey, that’s how I roll, and you knew this entering into the relationship. You’ve been warned.
So, the vomiting. Well, it all started last weekend with Boy #2. Poor guy was fine one minute and then filling a bowl with what felt like 10 pounds of his innards the next minute. I. kid. you. not. And there wasn’t even anything watery about it. That stuff was dense, I tell you!
A few days later, I was the lucky victim. It came on fast and furious. And if hovering over your toilet wasn’t humiliating enough, I got to experience it with the added touch of peeing my pants as well. Twice. I should’ve seen it coming. If I have to now cross my legs and pray when I sneeze, then it shouldn’t be a surprise that having my abdominal region go into convulsions before violently erupting should cause some significant bladder leakage as well. After the first time, I was so desperate and sick, I just grabbed a pair of ABW (already-been-worn) underwear and pants from the bathroom floor and didn’t even realize until hours later that I had them on backwards. Bonus.
Last night, Husband jumped out of bed and bolted into the bathroom, where he made it to the toilet — almost. Well, the sink, anyway. Thankfully, he “cleaned it out” before I got in there this morning — almost. Nothing like brushing your teeth and spitting into the sink, where you notice remnants of your significant other’s upchucked asparagus, to make you feel fresh-breathed and ready to start your day. And now this afternoon I had to fetch Boy #3 from the school nurse. He has not yet thrown up, but every time I look at him all I can see is a ticking time bomb. Filled with asparagus.
Now on to my house…what can I say? It was already getting pretty out of control before the virus struck, and it’s been downhill fast since then. It doesn’t help that Husband spilled an entire bowl of Campbell’s Chunky Chili down himself and on the living room carpet several days ago (Yes, we dine in front of the TV like all good families do). I’m just waiting for the crew of “Hoarders” to start filming anytime. Maybe then we’ll find Mrs. Mouse, the dwarf hamster who escaped from her cage several weeks ago. (Never a dull moment. Ever.)
On to the birthday. Well, nothing much to say there. At least 40 was a kind of milestone and usually results in someone treating you extra special because it’s one of those “ends in ‘0’” days. This year, 41 just seems, well, old and dull. What do 41-year-olds even do on their birthdays? Ugh. I’m pretty sure I’ll spend at least part of the day trying to catch up on laundry (*insert BIG laugh here*) and maybe will treat myself to a big cup of Metamucil later. Ooh, since it’s on a Sunday this year, maybe the boys will actually let me steal the remote so I can watch CBS Sunday Morning! Wow, I really am old.
If you made it through this post without losing your lunch, congratulations and thank you. Sorry my first post in several months is about puke, pee and poor housework, but if you can’t keep it real on your own blog, where can you?