It's a Grand Slam!

First, I thought it's just a fly by, given only one child being affected. But no.

On our trip back from Thanksgiving Friday evening, we stopped at a regular spot with my BIL's family to have an early dinner. We had been back on the highway for no more than 5 minutes when my middle daughter said those dreaded words..."I think I'm going to be sick." Frantically we looked about the inside of the truck for something to contain "it". The best we could come up with was a travel coffee mug. No bags (that we usually have in the event we bring the dog someplace and have to pick up after her). NOTHING. We coached her in some Lamaze breathing (I knew those would come in handy) and made for the closest exit. We made it to a gas station and she headed to the bathroom. She came out and said no, she wasn't sick but the, uh, southern hemisphere was under attack. But she still felt nauseous. I had the foresight to ask the clerk for a couple plastic bags, explaining the situation. She took them and went out to the car while I waited for Beanie to use the restroom. Daughter number 1 came in to tell me that daughter number 2 was currently emptying the contents of her stomach on the side of the gas station. We had about 45 minutes to drive to get home and luckily, we made it without any further incident. She slept most of Saturday and by Sunday she was right as rain.

Then Sunday night, Beanie starts complaining of an upset stomach. Now, let me say, this is the child that is known to cry wolf. Loudly. With a bull horn. So, we sent her to bed with a bucket, just in case. 1 am, she came to tell me there was throw up all over her bed. Oh, great. Looking at her, I knew how it got there. As an aside...can I just ask...why doesn't the vomit fairy ever visit during the day, when an 8 year old child has at least a chance of making it to the toilet? Why must she make her visits nocturnal? So, I stripped said child and got her in the bathtub (let's just say that was critical). I stripped the bed and poured baking soda all over the wet spots. I did a superfluous (for the time) clean up on the carpet, the bookcase (who knew pizza could fly?), got said child back in clean jammies, assisted with round 2 and we (at this point the husband came to investigate) got her set up at the foot of our bed (on my nice down comforter) with a bucket at both sides of her head and finally went to bed. Oh, not to sleep. I got to lay there just waiting for round 3. Each cough, each grunt, each movement had me ready to leap to her aid*. But alas, apparently round 2 rectified the situation. I was finally, around 5am, drifting off to sleep, when daughter number 1 tapped me to tell me she was nauseous and dizzy. I said go back to bed with a bucket.

So, I send my son off to school and daughter number 2 off to school. Daughter number one comes to the kitchen and attempts to drink some water only to have to make a mad dash to the bathroom. I sent the husband off to rent "the rug doctor" and bring home some ginger ale. After warning daughter number one that one should let one's stomach settle at LEAST an hour before attempting to put anything into it, my advice went unheeded. I knew better than to stand in her pathway to the bathroom as it didn't take long for it to come right back up. Luckily, she made it both times.

Whatever it was that hit them seemed to be fast and furious with a residual effect in the southern hemisphere. Tuesday, the husband was hit but only with the residual effect. I figured we were done. Nope. Tuesday night my son came into our bedroom saying he felt nauseous. I warned him to take a bucket to bed. I didn't hear from him all night (his room is in the basement). I went down to check on him and yes, he'd been hit.

So. The perfect quadfecta. When does the vomit fairy EVER hit all your kids in the same week? This was a first for me. A hat trick plus one (two if you include the husband). A grand slam. (sorry...out of sporting analogies).

Ever the realist, I understand that this is me being punished for my arrogance. I have, in the past, commented on how MY kids are NEVER sick. Ouch. That one bit me in the fanny. Never say never.

And the pessimist thinks she'll strike again. Christmas day, when I'm removing the giant prime rib cooked to a PERFECT 135 rare degrees, studded with garlic and seared so nicely, I see myself, the one who seems to have escaped this malady, turning green...

*aids=grabs a bucket and holds her head firmly over it so that there is no possibility of spillage