It was a hellish day that never really began because that would have meant there had been some kind of end to the night before. Part of that was my fault for not getting to be at a reasonable hour. (Not that I regret or complain.) The rest was because illness descended upon the house. It had been months since the last time. When I looked for something to ease the upheaving stomachs, I was horrified that I had nothing to give them, not one cracker, not a sip of lemon-lime soda. So much for “Be Prepared.” Sure, I have a couple of bottles of allergy medicine, pain reliever, and enough food in the pantry and freezer to make a week of meals, but nothing for upset stomachs. Dang.
As the two eldest, curled up on the couch, watching DVDs, holding onto vomit bowls (No praying to the porcelain god here; that would be heathen and make life easier for their Mama.), waited for the misery to end, their baby brother was running amok around the house, babbling, climbing, stacking blocks, playing cars, trying to get his older brothers to wrestle. Yup, that one got my immune system. And that little fact did not go unnoticed.
Tornado E: Mommy, Tornado A is a baby cockroach!
Obviously, my boy, you remember your father bitterly complimenting your mother’s immune system as he was curled up in bed, blowing his nose, downing whatever meds could help him. Good memory. Now lean over the bowl next time. Over the bowl! Christ, it’s like a scene out of The Exorcist.