So late on a Sunday evening, at the end of a quiet day but of a busy weekend the list of things to do consists of
- Going to bed to get some much needed sleep
- Working on a costume for a friend to wear to a party next weekend
- Contemplate organising my study to assist with number 2
- Kill a few brain cells watching drivel on TV
I was quite happy with a list of options that was achievable should I choose any option. Of course just when you think you are on top of things, the universe decides to kick you fair and square in the arse and adds options number 5 and 6 that end up with this being me.
The beautiful facial apparel I am sporting is courtesy of an aroma that makes me want to puke – literally. You see option 5 is comforting not only one child but two children as they vomit everywhere. That then leads to option 6 which is wash bedding. I mustn’t forget scrape puke from carpeting, bathe children again, wash puke from the hair of said children.
I really should have known that puke-fest 09 was on its way, I mean half the neighbourhood has been afflicted in the past week, I just assumed that we have served our time in the land of ill and that sickness would by-pass our happy home this week. As a result I really took no notice of the warning signs.
The first warning sign was that boy-child didn’t finish his dinner. From a boy who eats twice what I eat for every meal that should have been warning enough. I just assumed that since he had been at a friends house all afternoon he must have eaten snacks at his house and had no appetite. The second warning I failed to heed was not long after tucking the kids in to bed. Boy-child requested panadol to make him feel better. I figured that he had been running wild all afternoon his arm must be hurting but he informed me it was his tummy. He even went on to tell me that it was a 9 on the ‘hospital scale of how bad things hurt, with a really unhappy face above it’. Now I am guessing that a good parent would think uh-oh, this could get ugly. Me? I just thought he was being melodramatic because he had no-one to talk to as girl-child had fallen asleep. How wrong could I be? No more than 25 minutes after this dialogue, my studious arse-sitting on the couch was interrupted by the sound of puking.
Thankfully man-child was first on the scene and handled the changing of the sheets and the throw the kid into the bath to de-puke. I had the joyful job of scraping the mess from the carpet, along with half a deck of Uno cards and some origami like creations. Neither job was pleasant and the smells emanating from both induced a reflex sympathetic vomit action hence the dolls towel tied around my head that has been sprinkled with lavender oil.
Barely had we settled boy-child into a clean bed than girl-child got in on the action. She sleeps on top bunk so it could have been really ugly. Fortunately she didn’t have time to move so both she and her bed were covered but the floor and the walls have had a reprieve. In the stripping and remaking of her bed we (man-child) dragged her mattress to the floor. There is now rubber backed sheeting along side boy-child’s bed, between him and girl-child and more sheeting on the other side of girl-child. They both have puke buckets by their pillows and a spare between them.
Man-child was complaining that he was feeling a little funky so I have sent him back to bed with a bucket also. I am planning on spending another night sleeping on the couch in the study, to be able to better respond to further puke issues. Now I am waiting for the washing machine to finish so I can put on another load of vomit coated laundry!
Despite the face mask, the odours prevail. Generous burst of various odour eating, anti bacterial, save the world from an apocalypse type household sprays still can’t defeat the smells. I think I am in for a long night. At last count girl-child was up to 3 vomits and boy-child has a new personal best of 7!
Edited to add – make that 3 for girl-child. Fast running out of sheets and towels.