A therapeutic writing

The winter hostage situation of 2013

This part of my writing is therapy.  It is much cheaper and I don’t even have to exaggerate.  It is all actually true!

January and February in Chicago are especially lovely for me.   Running in the snow and ice to try and keep my sanity.  Feeling like anything above 30 degrees is warm.  Wearing my coat even at home.   Fashion is easy.  I just try to shower and change the base layer periodically because my coat is all anyone can see.

But my favorite part of this time of year, I have to say, is the sick children that lay around my home and don’t go to school like they are supposed to.  Which also means that the running in the snow and ice can’t happen for my sanity.

Now, a little bit of sick kids is kinda nice.  I would say the first 3 days.  It is a great excuse to just sit on the couch and snuggle and get nothing done.

We are on day 23.  This is NOT an exaggeration.  I know because I have been scratching the days off on the wall.  This has gone from “kinda nice” to the equivalent of being held hostage by terrorists.  In fact, the little terrorists are screaming, “Mommy can you come here!”  right now, but I am ignoring them to write this because I am on the verge of hitchhiking somewhere far far away!

Now there is a system to this madness.  No one person has actually been sick for 23 days.  And we are not loyal to just one germ either.   We are equal opportunity illness certified at our house.  All germs are welcome.

We began our 23 day marathon by welcoming in the Flu.  Luckily the littlest terrorists had the flu shot.  So only us naturalists who look down upon such things got super sick.  (Me and Noah).  A lesson well learned.  Because Murphy’s Law says that if you are going to get super sick with the flu it will definitely be at the MOST inopportune time that exists for you.

Me:  On my trip to NC that I was looking so forward to.  In bed the whole time.

Noah:  Right before final exams.  Couldn’t get out of bed for 3 days.

Now, while I was so sick in North Carolina, Richard called to say that 2 of our terrorists had a stomach bug.  Let me translate:  lots of vomiting and diarrhea.  I kind of thought, “whew I am so glad I am here with the flu, instead of there with the flu”.

Little did I know what was waiting for me when I got back.

See, not all of our kids have reached the developmental milestone that I call “good aim”.  (You could also call it the loose cannon.)  This is a real thing.  It requires a lot of eye/mouth coordination.  You have to understand that where you are looking is where you are puking.  For instance, if you are watching your favorite TV show on the CLOTH couch on the CARPETED floor in the basement with a trash can RIGHT beside you, you have to actually look at the trash can, (not your favorite show) to properly aim what is projectile coming out of your mouth.  And let me just warn you, that if you ever so gently try to push the head of your little darling toward the trashcan as the projectile stream is coming out of their mouth, you may be accused of trying to choke them.  Then that goes on the list of offenses that they keep track of forever and love to bring up whenever possible.

So when you have a loose cannon, and you are not strong and battle ready, the stomach bug can get a foothold in your house.  It becomes like that game at the carnival with a hammer and those little bugs that pop up.  Every time one pops up you try to bash it, miss half the time, and then it pops up somewhere else.  This is what it looked like here:

Hannah,

Zeke,

Micah,

Hannah,

Zeke,

Hannah,

Noah,

Zeke

This morning I thought for sure everyone was on the road to recovery and I was gonna get a morning to run.  We were actually getting in the car to make it to the bus when Zeke (our loose cannon) puked all over Micah’s backpack.  You can use your imagination for the chaos that ensued…

Nope you still fell short.  I will help you a little.  There was a lot of screaming, gagging, running, slipping, and throwing themselves onto the snow.  Then there was me, screaming, gagging, running, slipping, and carrying the puker to the snow to aim there instead of my car.  I failed.

So here I am, day 23, with 2 sick kids at home…again.  Or I might say winter holding me hostage…again.

Winter is a real witch!

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