Sweet Babou and I have a horrible, not-quite-flu cold which has left my head full of concrete that is apparently being chiseled out by a small dwarf to with a jackhammer (based on the pain in my skull). I have also blown my nose so hard that I have busted out an eardrum. I feel peachy.
Worse, poor little Baby Spock got a tummy virus over the weekend and turned the house into Night of the Living Yurk. She was not pleased with this development what so ever. Whenever we would ask her if she needed to throw up she would respond by saying, “NO FANK YOU! I DON’T WANNA FROW UP!” She was somehow under the impression that we were offering a choice of whether or not to puke. Then, when she did barf, she was livid that some asshat had made her hurl. All vomiting was thus accompanied by the patented Spock Rage Dance, which was both heartbreakingly pitiful and super-cute at the same time.
There is a LOT of laundry going on at my house, but at least she feels better. Sweet Babou and I are still being slaughtered by this hella-cold, however. For the present I am mainly staggering around saying “blerg” at intervals and trying to keep the kids (who have no school because of MLK day) fed and watered. My Sweet Babou bravely went to work because they absolutely need him in the office today. We both suspect the most productive thing he will be able to do today is to involuntarily infect all his co-workers with this evil virus.
Blerg.
Oh dear! I hope you all feel better really, really soon.
My dad loves to tell the story of the time he and his brother were both up sick in the night at the same time. My uncle was puking, and Dad had a major bloody nose. When my grandmother saw what was happening, with puke and blood flying everywhere and two beds and two kids that both needed to be changed, she called my grandfather for help. He took one look at all the gore, clapped a hand over his mouth, and ran.
She got everyone hosed off, changed, and settled into clean sheets again, and then she went looking for her husband. She found him sound asleep, hanging out a window. He’d stuck his head out for fresh air to keep from puking himself, and fell back to sleep that way.
Men just can’t hang…lol.
Fortunately, my Sweet Babou rallied and was a a huge help!
I can so see my husband doing this!
Poor little family – get well soon <3
Poor Fokker family! I send you good health FGBVs – from a safe distance!
Many, many FGBV’s to you and yours. You need to buy the squeeze bottle version of a Neti Pot (the actual name escapes me at the moment, made by the same people though). I adore hosing my nose out when I have a cold.
My husband and I have divided duties. I handle blood and poop and he handles all the puke. I’m a sympathy puker and he passes out at the sight of blood
!
We divide duties about the same- it’s a wonderful thing to find that perfect partner to raise kids with. In fact, that was one of my ‘weed ‘em out’ questions when dating- “can you be around puking without joining in?”