Flu Prostrates Family: Mom Ready to Pull Out Hair

These are the latest headlines from our household. We have the stomach flu. Over the last several days, I have cleaned up a lot of liquids that have exited the body at brute force (topping speeds of 90 mph), from both of the main orifices, and from three of the four sickies (my husband has managed to make it to the toilet in time, thank the Lord). My oldest child has sometimes gotten the double whammy (both at the same time, poor thing). What a joyride we’ve been on! Today is day seven and I’m the fortunate individual who only got a mild version of it.

I’m just nauseous all the time.

I really just want to curl up and hide under the covers, but I am counting my blessings. One: I could be feeling the same way and still have to care for everybody. Two: Nobody puked at school or on the bus (though one of the kid’s friends did). Three: We’re saving on the grocery bill. Four: We could be living in a car.

Our puppy dog is going stir crazy. She’s always been public enemy number one to our cats, but now she has moved to terrorist status. She stalks them, waits for them to show their furry faces, and then attacks with a ferocious slobberfest. She doesn’t want to destroy them as a true terrorist would, but she does ignite fear in them because they don’t know she means them no harm. Their fur is clogged with spit, they’ve lost tufts of it all over the house, and they’ve had to run faster than they’ve ever had to run in their lives. Big Lou (our male cat) doesn’t like to run. That’s why he’s so big. Our one cat, Beanie, vacillates between thinking this is love (she’s very needy) and deciding those big teeth kind of hurt. Our last cat, Gypsy (a stray who adopted us), is smarter. She just stays out of the way.

To add insult to injury, the day before yesterday I was taking down comforter number twenty-five, which had been drying down in the laundry room (I had to wash it because someone puked on it despite everyone having an assigned bucket), which is also the furnace room, and saw a little red light glowing on the furnace. We had run out of oil. We have a strange set-up and cannot read how much we have in the tank and I don’t know how fast this house burns through oil (cause we only moved here in August) and there are more people using the hot water and it’s been unusually cold, too. So, we ended up spending a lot of money to have the oil company do an emergency delivery and re-start the burner. They were very nice, though, and hit us first on their run. Bless them.

Still…

Over these past several days, my boys have grown attached to their puke buckets. Literally, they’re kind of sticky. Ohhh…there goes the nausea again.

Anyway, there is something to be learned from this blog. Here it is: If your child mentions that their best friend puked on the bus, you’re in trouble. If you feel stomach pains or someone complains of them, you’re in trouble. Avoid letting the sickies eat or drink (think ice chips) too much when they start feeling better, or, you’re in trouble.

All right, that’s all from Sick Central. I’m not feeling so well…Where’s my bucket?

My Momma Done Called the Cops on Me!

Yes, you read that right. My mom called the cops on me, and I didn’t even do anything wrong. Loyal readers, you know I can’t go too long without something strange happening in my life. This is the latest.

It all started on a wet and wild day…

It was around 4:00 in the afternoon and I decided to take the kids and our puppy out for a walk. I needed the exercise, as did the dog, so I decided we’d all head out in rain gear, with umbrellas clutched firmly in hand. Having discovered a lovely stream a couple weeks ago that was about a 20-minute walk away, we headed for that. It was slow going in rainboots, but we still made good time, enough for the kids to muck about and make leaf boats when we arrived at the stream.

We couldn’t stay long, though. It was daylight saving’s now, losing us an hour’s daylight, and overcast from the rain, to boot, so I decided we’d better head home - it was starting to get dark. So we tromped and trudged along on the journey back, not thinking about much of anything but getting home. We weren’t too far from the house when my mom scared us by calling out my name. When I finally figured out that it was her and not the fairies I’d been discussing with my four-year-old, I answered back that we were coming.

She met us at the garage and told us she’d been worried because it was dark (it looks much more so on the inside looking out). I assured her that we’d been able to see the whole way home and then asked her what time it was (not too long after 5:00). We’d only been gone a little over an hour. I thought she was overreacting a bit, but, oh well. Little did I know.

So we get inside the house and the kids are stripping down and toweling off, when my oldest son says, "What’s that big truck in the driveway?" Well, it turned out to be a fire truck, lights a-flashing, along with several other trucks. I gaped. Two of my sons are in their underwear, I’m wet and trying to dry off a sopping puppy whose only goal in life is to eat the towel I’m using and my mom says, "Oh, I know what that is. But I canceled that." Well, apparently they didn’t get the message and showed up in force to track down the missing lady and her kids who, might I remind you, had only been gone a little over an hour. Needless to say, I was feeling very embarrassed by this turn of events. Having come from a strong Norwegian background, asking for help was like asking someone to stick a pencil in your eye, God forbid you get noticed for anything, even good stuff, and looking foolish is as good as getting a death sentence. I can just imagine the conversation at the fire station now…Remember that idiot lady who took her kids for a walk in the woods in the rain and dark and nearly gave her poor mother a stroke from the worry? What a neglectful mother and daughter she was.

Egad.

I eventually forgave my mother for jumping the gun…she’d made soup for our supper, along with excellent homemade crescent rolls so I told her she was off the hook, though she could still bet her booty that I was going to be blogging about her boo-boo. That’s what she gets for being a worried mother. Sigh. It’s nice to be cared about, but I hate that kind of attention. It did help that all the guys who came out were really good about it. Said they were just glad they didn’t have to go trekking through the woods. As they were leaving, Dorrie tried to go with them and I had to pick her up in her little towel and carry her back inside, mumbling about how I was going to kill my mother. Luckily they didn’t hear me or I’d really have been in trouble.

By now I have kind of recovered, and am glad we’re new to the town so I shouldn’t get teased about being lost in the woods for an hour. Just in case, though, I think I’ll wear sunglasses and a scarf for the next few weeks.

Anyhoo, I wasn’t going to blog about any of that, but it came up so I thought I’d better get it down while I was still mad.

Now…back to my regularly scheduled blog. Remember that I’m attempting to finish a novel in the month of November without going mad? Well, on November 1st I started with about 73 pages with the hope of completing the rest of the novel in 30 days. So far, I am rocking the house! Somehow I am managing to write 5+ pages a day and enjoying it. Working around kids, a puppy, storytime at the library, the election, a baby shower, and getting ready for a craft fair (I ordered 1000 bookmarks and have to trim them all because the stupid company didn’t cut them right), not to mention the whole cop trauma, I am still managing to write.

Of course, getting enough sleep is another matter.

Relaxation time has gone out the window, as well. But here’s what’s helping. Both my husband and I are taking the challenge. He’s not writing a book, but he’s making a new website and wants to finish it this month. It always helps to have a partner who is working as hard as you do. If he were sitting on the couch watching Ghost Hunters and eating Cheezits all evening while I was trying to keep my eyes from closing for a little snooze, I would be tempted to join him. Instead, he’s in here with me, working just as hard. Misery sure does love company, doesn’t it?

The strange thing is, I’m not actually miserable. While I trim bookmark after bleepin’ bookmark (and permanently cripple my back), we catch up on our day, discuss world events, wonder what to do about the puppy who keeps chewing on our computer cords, and sing along to Dido. It’s actually been kind of nice.

So far, I have written 32 pages. Of course, that’s 32 pages with lots of dialogue, which really can make a book fly by. Yeah, dialogue! I’m sure I’ll slow down as the days pass, but it’s definitely an awesome start. I’m shocked by it, actually. What also helps is knowing that the Thanksgiving holiday is coming up. I want to get most of the book written before then so I can actually enjoy the vacation. Which I do think is achievable.

But only if I don’t end up on COPS for being in the toilet too long.

Thanks, Mom!