Okay, here's how it goes in my world: today is the day we have a mini vacation planned. As soon as the kids finish school we're off to a local hotel/waterpark/cavalcade of whimsy. We've had it booked for a while now. The kids are ridiculously excited.
Then Tuesday: 3:30 AM, a mere TWO DAYS before the much anticipated getaway: Jack starts hurling.
You've been there, right? First comes the WAIL and then the hurking sounds. I was 3/4 of the way up the stairs before I was even fully awake. I'm pretty sure that that is one of the best ways to have a heart attack.
Then I turned into the Terminator, and even as I was helping Jack, I was noting ALL THE SPOTS OF INFESTATION: barf on the bathroom floor, barf in the tub, smudge of hurl on the pink towel. Check, check, and check.
Then I got the boy back to bed and his room was still dim so he said; "MOM, DON'T STEP IN THE BARF!"
Do you ever find that a circle of barf on the floor is so unbelievable, so surreal, so incomprehensibly horrifying that you actually have to STARE at it for a bit? It's so shocking, so unbelievably ugly. Like, it's the worst thing you could imagine but still your brain couldn't even conjure up something so disgusting. And there you are actually SCRUTINIZING it and you don't want to, but then later you can call someone up and say;
"yeah, and it was funny because Jack's barf looked like one of those fake novelty barfs. You know--all kind of shaped like a circle and brown/puce, but really chintzy with the fake chunks? Well that's how his was! There were a few cubes of cheddar cheese in it and oh man--a LOT of raisins!"
I've lived this before. In grade 1, or was it 2...someone hurked on the carpet during story time and I couldn't stop looking at it. I KNEW that that kid had eaten Campbell's alphabet soup. There were the letters, and there were the cubes of carrots and potatoes.
OH, what? You're MAD at me now? TOO MUCH INFORMATION? Okay, yeah. Like you didn't feel compelled to stare at a pile of yark yourself.
Another reason you can't stop staring at it? Because it's putting off the worst part: CLEANING IT.
And I'm done talking about that. But maybe you can feel sorry for me, all hunched over, jammy shirt pulled up bandito-style over my nose and mouth, and secured at the back with a butterfly clip.
So then at about 5 in the morning, Ella comes marching downstairs.
Ella: "POOR TUMMY-WUMMY!"
And then she's in it to win it too.
Oh! Wait! I forgot to mention that The Man was away on a business trip! Hats off to you, single parents. HATS OFF TO YOU.
Because why? Because I'm SPOILED, that's why. Who cleans up barf and cat hair balls and cat yark ropes on the floor? THE MAN. Sniff! Now I lurv him even more.
So yeah, you've lived that day. You've stumbled around from horking child to horking child in your own sweaty jammies, with your grimy hair pulled back messily into an elastic band. You haven't even washed your FACE for crap's sake. At best you just loaded on more deodorant because you were ON CALL ALL DAY.
We have to talk about something now. I hate the stomach flu, or gastroenteritis, or Norovirus or Rotavirus, or whatever the F*CK you want to call it. No, don't say; DUH, WHO LIKES IT? Yes, everyone hates it. I believe I hate it just a little bit more. In fact, I fear it. I'm so afraid of puking that I have turned into the most anal freak possible.
Do you know who my best friend is now? BLEACH. Yeah, I love bleach. The house has smelled like an indoor swimming pool for two solid days and that, my friends, is because I am a WINNER. Yeah, that's right. You name it, I bleached it:
Jack's drawing pens
Jack's crayon nubs
various bedroom furnishings
I'm sure there's more but I can't think of it.
I kept a bucket with a rag, a rubber glove and some bleach water in the bathroom and it's still there. Every time the kids use the sink or tub or toilet, I BLEACH.
Yesterday I said cheerily (they were feeling better): "WHAT'S THE THEME FOR THE DAY, CHILDREN?"
Children (totally sick of me and bored): "wash your hands."
Me: "THAT'S RIGHT!"
Because F*CK THAT SHIZZ. I'm not getting sick. I'm beating the odds. I even ran my bleach rag over the couch as soon as the kids went to bed after that day of throwing up. My sister asked "but what if that ruined the fabric of the couch???"
Me: "So be it."
Because I'm a winner people. And anybody who says there's no way to avoid the stomach flu? Well, they're not running around washing EVERYTHING the kids have worn, slept on, or lounged under, and they're using some bullsh*t LYSOL product and NOT bleach.
So what's it gonna be people? The next time your kid starts spewing, are you going to be a loser, or are you going to be a WINNER?
|BLEACH IS FOR WINNERS|