My poor boys have dragged this 24 hour flu bug out all week. Jack was sick Sunday night, but acted great all day Monday so I took him to school. I thought we must have been living right because no one else got sick. I was so very wrong, because Mitch turned poltergeist on us last night and threw up 9 times in 90 minutes. He's so confused about the whole thing, and acts like an old dog who can only puke if he's on the carpet. He won't keep his head over the bucket, and instead runs around the house yelling and looking for the worst possible place to lose it. Meanwhile, I'm chasing him with the bucket and I have to wrestle him to the floor and hold him still, which means that I changed my clothes 4 times in 90 minutes and Jordan changed his once as well. After the 90 minutes were over, it was like someone had flipped a switch, and my sweet little smiling boy came back. He was singing along with the radio by bedtime. I'm so grateful he got it all over and done with while we were still awake and didn't wait until three in the morning. He's a very considerate fellow. I'm thinking that in a few days I could be the next person in line for that bucket however, based on our friends experience. The Walker's have had the same bug, and I'm thinking that Evan got it at school with Jack because they were the first and they were sick within hours of each other. His little brother Ethan got it next, and currently their parents are busy dying on the couch. This does not give me hope for Jordan and I. We were violently exposed last night with our little Tasmanian Devil. I'm trying to plan ahead for the next few days, and I just realized that I'm entirely too busy to get sick, therefore I politely decline. Thank you, but no thank you. Do you think that will work, or should I do some sort of ritual with a chicken too?
The boys entertained themselves while I disinfected the house today by putting a blanket on the floor to cushion their landing when they jumped off the chair. I nixed that one, and put the dog pillow under the chair. I figure that if I can't stop them from performing a death defying act, I can at least teach them to put some thought into it. They took it one step further and brought all the couch cushions over to really make a soft landing. Smart boys. Can you picture it? A dog pillow and four giant cushions covering the living room floor, and yet somehow Mitch still couldn't seem to hit a soft spot. Every few minutes I'd hear a particularly solid thud followed by crying and the sound of his little feet running to find me. He'd look at me like I was supposed to make it better, so I'd rub his back and tell him that if it hurts, he probably shouldn't do it anymore and maybe he should go find something else to play with. He'd stomp back to the living room, only to repeat the entire process. He'd make a few weak jumps at first, but as soon as his confidence came back he'd get crazy and hit floor again. Finally Daddy came home and broke the cycle by putting the couch back together. Why didn't I think of that?
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