I know you all won't believe me, because I hardly believe it, but the Girl came down with a stomach bug yesterday. I know. I hoped that it was a one (puke) and done situation and she seemed fine when I checked on her last night before I went to bed. This morning she got up early and when I got out of bed she was forcing the K to watch "Love It or List It" with her. (I think it's great that she watches home renovation shows just like I do.) We all sat and watched for a little bit until the K reached over to pat the Girl's head.
The K: What's in your hair?
The Girl: Hmmm. I don't know. Maybe it's from when I threw up.
Me: You took a shower after you threw up. It was like a 40 minute shower. I'm pretty sure you were clean when you went to bed.
The Girl: It may have been from the other night when I threw up in bed.
Me: What? What other night?
The Girl: The night when I threw up in bed and went back to sleep.
The K: Last night?
The Girl: Could be.
WTF? AYKM? YPIBASN?? (That's an acronym for "you puked in bed and said nothing?" I promise, it'll be the new LOL.)
So, I went up to her room and took in the awfulness of the situation. I guess she woke up briefly and just pulled her afghan from the foot of her bed up to the top and covered up the mess. I stripped off the sheets, the pillow cases, and the duvet cover. It was also on the rug, some stuffed animals, the afghan, the mattress pad, and, worst of all, the dust ruffle. That required pulling off the mattress and getting the dust ruffle from between the mattress and box spring. Blah.
Here's the room in disarray:
I have to be honest, I just threw everything in the wash without looking to see what was machine-washable. If the things weren't washed, they'd be ruined anyway, so what's the difference?
This is not the first time we got up to some sort of bodily fluids mess in one of the kids' rooms. A couple of years ago, the Boy stormed downstairs one morning in a huff. "Somebody pooped all over my floor last night!" He was totally indignant. The K was home, so I dispatched him to see what was going on. The Boy has a rug on his floor and a huge foam puzzle of the world:
I know, super clean at the moment. The Boy was really obsessed with geography for a while and Mom got him the puzzle. It was supposed to stay at her house, but the Boy liked it so much that it came home with us and has been on his bedroom floor ever since.
Anyway, that morning, the K checked out the situation and came back downstairs.
Me: What? What's happening up there?
The K: All I know is someone really doesn't like Russia.
The K: Someone took a big dump right on top of it on the map.
We figured that the Boy, who was fighting a stomach bug, had gotten up in the middle of the night, made it a couple steps from the bed, let loose on Russia, and got back into bed without waking up. The Boy was in utter, total denial that he had anything to do with it, but since we didn't have Audrey the Moose back then, we're pretty sure it was the Boy.
As much as I hate that the kids are sick, it does remind me that my first world problems, like having too many presents to wrap, are not that big a deal. I mean, boo hoo for me. The kids are going to be fine, they're generally healthy, and we're all together for Christmas. This may not be the holiday I pictured, but it doesn't have to be a Pinterest-perfect Christmas to be wonderful and real and sincere. We may not be building color-coordinated gingerbread houses and I won't be making a french toast casserole tomorrow night to pop into the oven to eat on Christmas morning, but that's okay. I felt even more optimistic about the holiday when I consulted the Girl's magic 8 ball with the question, "will this be a happy Christmas?"
Outlook good! That is as close to a guarantee as I am going to get. I'll take it. Merry Christmas Eve eve, everyone!