And Then This Happened...

I think enough time has passed that I can write about what happened over the long weekend. It took me a good week to get over the trauma. (Disclaimer: If you have a weak stomach, this post is NOT for you. Go read something else.)

The weekend before last, we decided to take a little ski trip for the long weekend. PJ & I each took a personal day on Friday with the intent of getting a good ski day in. Naturally, things didn't quite go to plan. Sophie woke up in the middle of the night getting sick. We spent so much time dealing with that, we decided to sleep in a bit and leave later. By noon, Sophie was back to her old self and we headed north.

We got up to Bretton Woods around 4pm. Even though it was freezing out, we figured we could do a bit of skiing with the kids. We worked up a good sweat wrestling all five of them into all of their gear and then promptly froze our damn asses off. After the second run, the kids wanted to quit. We managed 2 more runs before we actually had a few of them in tears and called it quits.

The Accurate Weather app always pegs it. Much Freezy.

The next day, as it was still "much freezy," we decided to hit up the local indoor water park. The kids had a blast, didn't freeze their tails off, and were looking forward to a full ski day on Sunday. Or so we thought. {cue foreboding music}

Aren't they adorable? You can't even see all of the disgusting germs they're harboring.

Saturday night at dinner, I wasn't feeling all that well. I ordered some soup for dinner, but decided not to eat it because I had a feeling that I'd be seeing it again. When we got back to the hotel room, it started. I was officially ill. I knew I couldn't possibly be lucky enough to dodge the stomach bug after staying up Thursday night with Sophie, a.k.a. Lady Barfs-A-Lot. So there it was. I was sick. Dammit.

Our hotel room was a suite with a bedroom, a bathroom attached to that, and a living room with a pullout that all of the kids were sleeping on. I was laying in our bed, feeling sorry for myself and not really resting, because I had a pretty good sense that trouble was coming. Right on cue, Lucy called out from the living room that her stomach hurt. I rushed her into the bathroom just a second too late. So now I was sick and cleaning up after someone else with the nice hotel towels. As she was getting sick, PJ started, too. Those two were in the bathroom together (a bonding experience that should never happen), when I felt another wave of nausea and promptly used the trash bin. We were officially a frat house after a really big night of binge drinking.

After that bout, PJ, Lucy, & I climbed into our bed. I kept the trash bin nearby in case Lucy couldn't climb out of the middle of the bed fast enough. Over the course of the night, I barely slept because I was either sick or sleeping on high alert waiting for the next kid to start. My only concern was keeping the beds clean. We weren't home where I could wash sheets or clean beds (or even send them to another room). We were trapped with only a few clean towels left and one set of sheets in the closet. God help us.

The three of us continued to get sick over the course of the night. Around 1am, Patrick announced that he didn't feel well. Luckily, the hotel is environmentally conscious, so I gave him the recycling bin to keep next to his side of the pullout.That way, we didn't risk him running through the bedroom and not making it to the bathroom in time. I don't think I really slept the rest of the night because I knew the little ones were next. Sure enough, Charlotte woke up around 2am. She told me she was very thirsty. I got her some water and kept asking her if she felt alright. She assured me she was fine and let out a little burp. But, I knew better. All of a sudden, she started, too. The poor kid. She didn't know what was happening. All I could think was that I needed to keep these damn beds clean. So, I slapped my hand over her little mouth and carried her like a football to the nearest trash barrel. For the rest of the night, the five of us were getting sick sporadically in our disgusting little germ factory. Right on cue, Sean sat up in bed and threw up, too. For those of you who believe in Hell, I believe I've had a glimpse of it. Hell is two adults and four kids taking turns barfing in a little hotel suite with one toilet (and, thank the Lord, two trash barrels and a recycling bin). All while the fifth kid, who started it all, talks about how she's totally fine and wants to know when we're going skiing.

Luckily, the getting sick part only lasted a few hours. But then we stayed in bed all day feeling like death. That may be the first Patriots playoff game I've ever watched without food or beer. You know my kids are really sick when you can trap five of them in a hotel room for an entire day and never once have to ask them to be quiet. It was kind of amazing.

The next day was the last day of our long weekend and we all woke up feeling perfectly fine. Sadly, with a three hour ride home, we didn't really have time to do any skiing.We'll have to try again, soon. Hopefully, the next trip will go off without a hitch. Or at the very least, without any vomit.

~Lissie

(And before you ask, I did what I could to clean up the room. We also warned the maid and tipped her well.)

--> What about you? Any stomach bug disasters in your house? Feel free to share your story in the comments below...

Fever = Quiet

Poor Patrick has been sick all week. Now, aside from the nasty runny noses Sean & Charlotte had all winter, my kids are usually {knock on wood} extremely healthy.


It all started Sunday night when Patrick complained of feeling cold while he was wearing two sweaters under his covers. He had a fever of 103. It was that really fun kind of fever that starts creeping back up long before the ibuprofen is due for another dose. His whole demeanor changed. He was very quiet and lethargic all week. Tuesday night, I knew the fever had spiked again (103.4!) because Patrick was talking in his sleep about all kinds of nonsense. So Wednesday afternoon, we made a trip to the doctor and it appeared he had his first (ever!) ear infection. Obviously, after a consistent fever of 103 for three days, antibiotics were prescribed.


Last night, I thought he was completely on the mend because his fever was only going as high as 100.5 (it's all relative, I guess). Today, the whole gang played hooky because I felt badly waking him up in order to bring the girls to school. About an hour after that decision, I regretted it. They were all running around acting like crazy fools. I was silently cursing the "no fever for 24 hours" rule at the school because Patrick had bounced right back and was picking on his sisters. Based on his behavior, he must've had a whole week to make up for. Even through his persistent cough, he was able to chase the girls screaming through the house.


But, all of a sudden, the house got quiet. A sure sign of the return of the fever. As I suspected, Patrick was laying in his bed and back up to 102. So now we play the waiting game. The antibiotics haven't been in his system for 48 hours, yet. Hopefully, sometime tonight, he'll be back to teasing his sisters without needing a dose of medicine. I'll be glad when he's feeling well, again, but I'll miss the peace and quiet!

Digital oral thermometer. Photograph: Eric Van Den Brulle/Getty Images

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SICK

So, a few months ago, I wrote a post about being sick while taking care of the kids. In that instance, I had a bad case of chills and aches that made me want to lay in bed wearing a hooded sweatshirt (hood up) while the children ran around like loons. But, as life is constantly trying to give me perspective, I realize I should've looked at that day like a little vacation at the spa. Because it surely can't compare to what just happened in our house over the past few days.

There has been a little stomach bug going around at my kids' schools. It's relatively short-lived, but even 6-8 hours of vomiting is 6-8 hours more than I like to deal with. In the middle of the night between Friday and Saturday, Lucy started. She spent the night puking in a bucket once an hour (Old Faithful) until the morning. During the day on Saturday, she was tired, but no longer sick. All day Saturday I watched the others for signs, but it appeared that some kind of miracle allowed the bug to only hit one of us. I know. It even sounds delusional to me.

By Sunday, Lucy was running around like the rest of the crazies, so we went about our business. We went to Patrick's basketball game. We got the house ready for the Patriots play-off game, and we invited company over to the germ factory.

The game was great - GO PATS! I ate lots of Chinese food and had a few beers (that I would later regret). In all, it was a fun evening. The first clue that we might not be ok was when Patrick didn't want any dinner. Then Sophie kept telling me the button on her jeans was making her tummy tired. Uh-oh.

Patrick went to my room which has its own bathroom. That's when he started. Sophie came down to complain about her button again. I asked her to go get daddy because I was holding Charlotte and didn't feel so good. She never came back. I went to find her (& hand off Charlotte) and she started getting sick. We rushed her into the other bathroom. Her getting sick finally sent my churning stomach over the edge and I started, too. Two people, one toilet. It's a real bonding experience. Please keep in mind that we still had company at this point. Don't worry. They left in a hurry.

That night, I had Patrick and Sophie sleep with me since we'd be closer to the bathroom. PJ and Sean slept on the couch to try to be as far away from the germs as possible. There's nothing quite like getting sick once an hour. The experience is only heightened by helping others while they get sick, too. To add insult to injury, Charlotte started at one in the morning. Seeing as she's only fourteen months old, she couldn't figure out why I kept pinning her arms and holding her over a bucket. Poor little thing. Needless to say, I didn't sleep at all. When you're waiting at attention for anyone in a bed full of sick kids to start throwing up, you really can't rest. My only concern was keeping it out of the bed. I just didn't have it in me to change sheets, too. Rinsing out buckets was bad enough.

Of course, around 2:30 in the morning, PJ came down to inform me that Sean had started, too. Since my bed was already full of me and three kids, they stayed on the couch and handled it down that end of the house.

All-in-all, it was an absolutely dreadful night. I hate getting sick and it was made horribly worse by the fact that I was caring for three others who were getting sick at the same time. Not only that, but as each of us succumbed, I was feeling guiltier and guiltier about inviting company to the house. I keep waiting for the awful news that one of our guests is sick, too.

So, yes, Universe. I'm sorry I complained two months ago about feeling achy and needing to lay in bed. I get it. It can always get worse.

One Word: ILL

There is a special kind of hell that consists of being sick when you are home with children. Being sick sucks. There's really no other way to say it. Being sick when there are children running through your room blowing kazoos and trying to tag each other leaves me convinced that I am a very bad person and this must be some kind of karmic retribution.


I am very rarely sick. I do not think this is a testament to some marvelous immune system. I'm fairly certain it has everything to do with the fact that I just can't handle being sick and having to deal with my darling children. I think my kids are wonderful. But, my house isn't that big. You can run but you can't hide. 


This week I felt ill for about two days. I didn't miss any work, but by the time I dragged myself home, the feeling was akin to death warmed over. I was trying desperately to hide in my bed and ride out the awful chills and aches, but those pesky kids just kept finding me. That kazoo scenario I described was an actual occurrence. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. 

Luckily, whatever I had passed quickly. I am now well enough to take out the person who let the kids come home with kazoos (you know who you are)...


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