Last Thursday night, around 10:30 p.m., I was awakened by the stealthy sound of a seven-year-old creeping into my room, desperate to make an Unpleasant Announcement.
"Mom, I just threw up."
She sleeps in an Ikea loft bed, one meant for smaller kids, so she's not really that high off the floor. And she did manage to hang her head over the side before everything, um, erupted, so that was good, but I think it helped to increase the radius of the impact zone, if you get my drift. I cleaned up everything as best I could, got her settled and went back to bed, hoping and praying that it was all over.
By this time, Devon was not nearly as sick as she had been, but was still weak and tired, so she languished while Harper ran back and forth to the bathroom to heave.
Finally, they both passed out.
Saturday and Sunday were better, but Devon is now at that point in her recovery where she is not truly sick anymore, but is a huge pain in my ass. She spends her entire day moaning dramatically, announcing she's tired, throwing herself down somewhere and demanding a pillow and blanket, then rolling around restlessly for 30 seconds followed by stomping around the house and throwing things as though we have all been insulting her honor. Imagine how many times a small child can do that between 6 a.m. and 7 p.m. Imagine her doing it while her sister is retching and crying in the toilet. Imagine her doing it while you have a wracking cough and pinkeye and a semi-useless husband (since the kids want nothing to do with him when they're sick) and you are a notorious introvert who hasn't had a day to herself since before Christmas.
I decided to keep them home one more day, just in case, but have already determined that they would both have been fine back where they are supposed to be, and I could have finally had a day to nurse my red, weepy eye and my chest-gunk (PHLEGM!), as well as my psychological well-being. But no, I had to be all "I don't know...what if they need me?"
And it's supposed to snow tomorrow. Which means my husband will work from home, so if the kids can't go to school/daycare, I will be stuck inside with them for yet another day while my husband locks himself in his office, occasionally popping out to ask if I need anything and then having to duck as I throw several heavy objects towards his head.
What I NEED is a day off. And a blunt.
In quilting news:
After quilting two tops that had been languishing in my closet, I decided to tackle a third. Some of you may vaguely recall this quilt, also from 2009:
I got some 108-inch white backing fabric and yardage for binding and on Saturday, I entrusted the care of my vomiting, cranky children to my husband for a couple hours so I could pin-baste it. This quilt, which is roughly 70x70, is about as big a quilt as I can baste in my house without having to haul furniture outside. Once it was basted, I had to figure out how to quilt it. Of the last two quilts I completed, one was stippled, and the other was, well...it was supposed to be wavy lines, like ocean waves, but it just looked like vandalism. I hoped for better for this quilt.
I decided to try a simple flower in each four-patch:
Nothing too fancy, hard to screw up. And fairly easy to accomplish even when you cannot see your thread on most of the blocks, so you have no idea if you are making a flower or a portrait of the virus that is currently infecting your family. I will have to figure out something else for the sashing, which will probably ruin the whole thing. Perhaps I should aim for something hideous, like gaping wounds or something, and then it might end up looking like vines and leaves instead.
But either way I'll still end up with a useable quilt, all sunshiney and flowery and not vomit-encrusted. Which is good enough for the likes of me.