"Boys are found everywhere—on top of, underneath, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around or jumping to. Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older sisters and brothers tolerate them, adults ignore them and Heaven protects them. A boy is Truth with dirt on its face, Beauty with a cut on its finger, Wisdom with bubble gum in its hair
and the Hope of the future with a frog in its pocket."
Author: Alan Beck

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

If your husband travels to Arizona on business, life in your (seemingly) normal house will quickly take a turn for the worse.

You'll take a night off from cooking and will order pizza for the brood, including a gluten free pie for yourself. The 'pizza man' will be greeted as such and by the looks of his face, you can tell he doesn't appreciate his given nickname. Whatever. You think that 5 hungry boys shouting "pizza man, PIZZA MAN!" is cute. You smile, hand him his tip, and send the pizza man on his merry way.

Eating burnt gluten free pizza will make you think of wine, and you'll pour yourself a glass. Singed food all food goes down easier with wine.

The boys dive right in, and for a moment, all is well. Just when you begin to think that life with 5 boys (and a traveling husband) is too easy, you're proven wrong (faster than a freight train).

Your child who has had unexplained hives for 3 days begins to swell like a puffer fish. His skin turns bright red and tears ensue. He tells you his body 'feels like one giant bee sting' and before you know it, you're calling his Dr.

Calling his Dr. after hours will prompt the answering service to inform you that you will be "referred to Children's hospital for a fee of $8.00." You politely remind her that in the good old days, doctors took turns being 'on-call' and you'd like to speak to the 'on-call' doctor. QUICK LIKE. Her memory is miraculously refreshed and she allows you to leave a message for the 'on-call' Dr.

Waiting for the doctor to call you back will seem like hours and your child will grow puffier by the minute.

Forecasting a trip to the ER in the near future, you cork the wine bottle .  Corking the wine bottle while your husband is traveling is definitely not something you're comfortable with.

The phone will ring, and the unrecognizable number on the screen makes you leap to the counter with joy. What seemed like hours was only 17.3 minutes. The DR. listens to you rant, and asks that you double up on the steroids given 3 days ago. "The same steroids that make my child act like the exorcist?" you ask. "Yes ma'am." he replies. "Those steroids." It takes everything you've got, but you oblige and give your sweet boy the steroids. He won't be sweet for long.
Realizing you don't have much time before your child medicinally changes into the Hulk, you march the troops upstairs. Being the cool mom that you are, you invite them to sleep in your room. They think you're just doing it to be nice and they take you up on your offer. You know the real reason behind the master bedroom invite is to create more of an obstacle course for the boogie man. You know he's bound to come when your husband travels, and you'll be damned if you'll make it easy for him to get you.

Two hours s l o w l y go by and the troops are starting to head into dream land. Little puffer fish is starting to return to his normal size and color and is the first to fall asleep...before the medicine takes place. There is a God.

The events of the evening will cause your actions to become extremely uncharacteristic. For the first time in your life, you will turn off the TV before you fall asleep. You are exhausted, and will drift off after only a few minutes of feeling sorry for yourself.

118 seconds go by. And then it happens.

You'll abruptly be awakened by the sound of projectile vomit in action. You'll rush to the side of your oldest child who has puked on everything within a 6 foot radius of his body....including his brother.

Fast forward two hours....

It's now midnight and you'll find yourself knee-deep in vomit. Vomit on the carpet, vomit on the walls (yes, you read that right), vomit on you, and vomit on sleeping children who remain unaware that they have been so heinously violated.

Having a child THIS SICK will quickly shift you into zombie mode. You'll spend the rest of the night doing laundry, and rinsing out the puke bucket. Over and over again. Daylight will come (though not soon enough) and you will find yourself handing the dog a piece of toast and offering your children dog biscuits.  Trust me on this.

You'll open your cupboards and realize you are no where near equipped to handle such tragedy.  You send an SOS to your parents in the form of a grocery list that reads:

Ginger Ale
Paper towels
Rubber gloves

Pharmacy prescription for Zofran

Like always, your parents are able to detect your desperate state and come to your rescue with everything requested on the list.

But they decline your invite to come inside. 

The next 24 hours can be explained through pictures like this-

And this-

                                                                     And this-

Your husband will come home just in time to assist with the remaining 3 children who fall ill.  (Child number 4 is holding out, and so far, has escaped the gruesome spell.)  Together, you will do loads of laundry, and bond while sporting matching cans of Lysol in your back pockets. 

After 5 days of microorganism fun, things will slowly return to normal. 

And just as they do, your husband will alert you to the fact that he's heading back to AZ in two weeks.

Over my damn body.

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