Got the kids in bed last night by 8:30pm. Made bottles, took the garbage to the curb (marveled at the amount of and items contained in our neighbor’s trash…but they just moved out over the weekend), worked on laundry, cleaned up the rest of the kitchen, vegged on the computer for a few minutes, vacuumed the entire lower level (used the crevice tool, too), attempted to eat a little bit since stomach is still off, swapped out laundry, checked on kids, and went to bed.
I wake up to the garbage truck having a party at my curb at 5:30am…seems they were more than willing to take all the trash left by my former neighbors and I got to hear every last item getting crunched in the back. At 6:10am I hop in the shower, taking a mental note that I should be able to dry my hair before needing to get the kids up for school.
I’m nearly done with my shower and Gavin comes in complaining of his elbow and let hurting. He said he fell. I give my condolences, then bark the usual morning orders of “go get underwear, pants, shirt, and socks”. As usual he tells me no. I open the shower door to make sure he can see my I-mean-business-face and just as I’m about to repeat my orders, I see what looks like puke on his pajamas.
Me: Buddy, did you throw up?
Me: ok…you feel shaky?
Me: ok…sit down…I’m almost done I start rinsing off furiously
where did you get sick?
G: in my bed…it’s yucky.
I jump out of the shower, throw on a robe and he shows me…he puked in his bed…all over it, and it went over the side and onto the carpet. A favorite teddy bear was caught in the cross-fire. I start running a bath for him, pull of his jammies and realize that he must’ve puked hours ago, in his sleep.
I throw him in the tub, quickly dry my hair, throw on clothes, note that the crazy rash is still there. I start yanking off his sheets and blankets and get the quilt into the washer. Cooper is sitting up in his crib hollaring at me, so I give him his milk and check on Gavin. He tells me his tummy hurts, so I yank him out of the tub, he pukes (in the toilet, thank goodness), then I get him cleaned up again and get him dressed. I order him to remain on the bath rug while I get Cooper dressed (since he was yelling at me again from his crib).
I get both of them downstairs; I park Cooper in front of his toys while I put Gavin on the steps next to the bathroom and get his shoes on. I get the Cooper’s bottles and food packed, grab his sheets/blankets for school, then grab about 6 beach towels for Gavin. Gavin keeps crying that he’s hungry. I get him a sippy cup with a little water, put half-a-handful of Cheerios in a baggie, and get everyone packed in the car. I give Gavin STRICT orders to take baby sips of water and to only eat 1 Cheerio at a time (and very slowly).
While in the car we encounter some demonic traffic (it was bad, even for Mondays), I call and make an appointment for my rash, call and tell Gavin’s side of the school he won’t be in due to puking, and then we finally arrive at school. I pad Gavin with a couple beach towels and promise to be “right back” and run in the building with Cooper. I drop him off, throw his stuff in the fridge, give him a quick kiss, and run out of the building. As I’m running up to the car, I see Gavin’s face and he doesn’t look too good. I open the door and realize he puked during the 3 minutes I was in the building…and nearly start crying while I get him cleaned up.
On our way home, we run into the store for some pedialyte…okay, I ran in while carrying him wrapped in a beach towel since his jacket got doused…thank goodness for all those years of marching band…I was able to move fast without jostling him. I grab two bottles, do the self-checkout and the supervising cashier over the self-checkout helps me out and asks very concerned questions about Gavin. I’ve always liked her. I thank her profusely and run us back out to the car.
Meanwhile, I got a call from Justin while on my way home from the store…quite surprised since it was only 5:15am in Alaska. He said he got his luggage, but that his bag must’ve been sitting in a puddle because every single one of his shirts was wet and there’s a distinct water line on the bag. I told him about Gavin but he didn’t seem to hear me and was muttering about the luggage and what time it was and that he had to go and hung up. I’m really hoping his lack of response was because he didn’t hear me due to both of us being on cell phones.
We get home, I give him a cup of pedialyte, sit him on the rug by the back door, and run upstairs to grab a small trash can, the puppy pads, and more beach towels. I get him situated on layers of puppy pads and towels on the couch, help him change his clothes, throw more stuff in the wash, and sit down long enough to relax for 5 minutes before he gets up and says, “I need the toilet”. I speed him in there, and up come the Cheerios he snuck, and the pedialyte. He points at it and says “yucky juice”. I correct him that it was the Cheerios and that no more Cheerios, only “juice” and water, and plop him back on the couch.
I just looked at the clock and realize I have about 20 minutes before we need to leave for my doctor’s appointment…thank goodness they are very efficient in that office…less chance of Gavin puking in there. But judging by my luck, it will be harried and exciting.
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