“Mommy! You need to take me to the doctor,” #1son moaned from the side of the toilet.
I hate this kind of sickness. Oh, who am I kidding? I hate it any time my kids are sick.
“Why do we need to go to the doctor?” I ask, stroking his back.
“So we can find out why my guts keep coming out of my body.”
Yep. It’s that kind. The throw-up-vomit-barf kind. And on a side note, this is my kid who spikes a 104+ fever (106.1 and a race to the ER is our record) every time he is sick.
“Pumpkin,” I tried to sound calm, “You just have a flu. A really bad flu. You need rest, liquids and more rest. You’ll be better before you know it.”
“I don’t think so,” came the feeble reply.
For five hours straight, I ran from bedroom to laundry room to cleaning cabinet to couch to bathroom to basement (to find another bucket) to laundry room to garden hose (to hose down the couch cushions) to bathroom and to laundry room. Again. We went through 3 sets of sheets, 4 sets of PJ’s, one stuffed doggy and two blankets. I could barely keep up.
In between the clean-up-sterilizing-laundry runs, I read to him, I held him, and we attempted a board game.
He finally fell asleep. I spent those precious hours cleaning, cloroxing and lysoling everything in sight. As soon as he woke up, I tackled all the noisy chores: emptying dishwasher, vacuuming and putting stuff away in his room. I started a big pot of homemade chicken noodle soup (which he hasn’t touched but the rest of the family loved) and made lime jello, his favorite.
My house is never cleaner than when someone is sick. First of all, I’m stuck in the house. Not able to sit still for long, I clean. Second, someone is sick. Out come the Clorox wipes and Lysol spray. Switchplates, doorknobs, phones, keyboards and remote controls are wiped down every hour. Third? My house better be clean before the real SHTF. Because no one else is going to do it while I’m laid up.
I woke up this morning and the laundry is caught up. Every room is vacuumed and dusted. Sinks and toilets are sparkling. You could eat off my kitchen floor. (Although, I don’t recommend it.)
My idle hands itched for something to do so I washed combs and brushes. Straightened kitchen cabinets and took a box of winter clothes to the basement. With those tasks completed I realized I was a bit beat. I decided to sit down and catch up with all of you.
That’s when it hit me.
“Sweetie,” I called out to #1son who was reading a book in bed, “how did your flu start?”
“My head,” was the reply, “It hurt really bad. All over.”
If you don’t hear from me for the next few days, you know what hit me.
At least the house is clean.