Being cooped up in a house for three days can make anyone go crazy. I am going to warn you now, if you have a queasy stomach, turn back now- while you still have time!
Add on top of that, two children with the flu and a husband that is busy calving/trucking/ finding any excuse to be out of the house, and what you end up by the end of Monday night is a mommy with no patience and a possibly slight drinking problem.
This story started Saturday morning, when we decided to take a trip to town to go find me a new oven. The local Appliance and Electronics store was having a great sale on everything in the store! And I had been dreaming of a new oven, since, well, we plugged in the hand me down oven from my grandma roughly six years ago. We got to the store about two hours later than expected, because we decided we should go for a road trip and let the kids take a nap in the pickup. After mud- bogging through the north country, we finally arrived at our original destination with two half-asleep kids that needed to pee like Thoroughbreds after a race. And that, my friends, is where the toilet part comes in.
My kids, at least since they have been potty trained, seem to think that public toilets are available in every building on the face of this planet. I have been in bathrooms in tiny little mom-and-pop shops, nasty gas stations, WalMarts, KMarts, sports warehouses, farm and ranch supply stores, craft stores, malls, doctor offices, hospitals, schools, restaurants, and outhouses along the way. Hell, we’ve even popped a squat on the way home in the middle of a snow storm when my oldest was first learning to potty train. It doesn’t matter if they down a Mega-tanker of milk or taste a drop of water- if we end up anywhere that may potentially have indoor plumbing (who am I kidding, they can’t even manage to stop at the corrals at my parents place without using the outhouse in the shop; clearly it isn’t a fascination with the flushing water that intrigues them), they suddenly have to go to the bathroom. I guess if you ever need a recommendation on where *not* to take your kids to take care of business, give me a call– I can probably help you out.
Anyways, back to the oven-shopping adventure- after about half an hour of “I reeealllyyy have to peeeee mommmmmyy”…. and the store staff being swamped, the children’s dad and I decided it was probably in the best interest of everyone involved that we leave and take these whining kids somewhere with a toilet. In an effort to minimize wasted time, we ran to the grocery store where they could finally relieve themselves, and we could get our groceries. Back to get the oven we went— of course this time, Dad went alone while I hung out in the pickup with his offspring. Not ten minutes into this, my oldest tells me she is about to get sick. All I can think is, “WTF are you going to puke into? There are no buckets, no bags, no nothing for this not to make a massive mess…” when I hand her a plastic grocery sack and say, “Good luck… please don’t put it around your face!” I know, Mom of the Year, right?? Good news is, she saved the vomit for a few hours. 2:00 in the morning, Sunday, to be exact; just as I walked into the house from my night-check of the cows, she lost it. The flu had finally arrived.
Sunday was spent trying to recover from a crooked neck from sleeping on the couch with a sick kid. In between rocking in the chair and breaking in my new oven, the day turned out to be relatively uneventful until about 11:30 that night. I awoke to our youngest daughter telling me something in a language I don’t speak, and a hand full of barf. My kids have this very specific cough before they are about ready to toss their cookies- and there is nothing that will get you out of bed quite like the sound of a kid (or a dog, they are a lot alike) preparing to throw up. Needless to say I spent Sunday night sleeping on the couch with the kid between me and garbage can. Two nights on the couch my couch is torture (as if a sick kid isn’t enough…)
By Monday, I was ready to go back to work. And you know things have to be bad for me to literally want to be at work. Laying around watching “Little Foot” for the 437th time was really starting to grate on me. At least the puking was done, but the trips to the bathroom only increased in number. Naps were no where to be found, even after playing outside for over an hour; and they couldn’t be trusted to lay in my bed and watch a movie together while I showered. I finally had enough after we ate lunch, and strapped them both into their carseats and headed towards town. The little one was asleep two miles past our driveway; but the kid that needed the rest was still going strong. Forty-five minutes later, I happened to look in the rear-view and she was mouth-open, head tipped back, snoring like a fat old man. Sadly, it didn’t last nearly long enough.
I will say, though, that for all the tears, anxiety, temper tantrums, and butt warmings, I managed to make it through their bedtime by myself. The walk to the corrals with a cold beer in my hand never felt so good; although I am pretty sure the bed that is currently calling my name is going to feel like heaven. I might even be looking forward to going to work tomorrow! (Hey, I said I might…)
Much love, Richelle