This weekend was not pleasant.
The nastiness started on Thursday, actually, when Poppy came home from her piano lesson with a stomachache. Not long after that, the stomachache manifested itself as a stomach bug, and Poppy was down for the count. It hit Pete hours later, and the rest of the day was a blur of Gatorade sips and emergency cleanups.
Friday wasn’t so bad. The kids woke up back to normal; I think Pete actually backflipped out of his bed. So that was good. But then Rockford left for a business trip in the afternoon, which was not so good. I don’t like it when he’s gone in the best of situations. And this weekend? It was not the best of situations.
I’m sure you see where this is going by now.
The stomach bug hit me Saturday morning, about an hour and a half before Pete’s soccer game. We didn’t go to the soccer game. The really nasty stuff lasted for about 14 hours, during which time the kids feasted on unlimited TV, computer time and peanut butter. I was finally able to leave the bedroom yesterday, but I still spent most of the day on the couch. The aches, chills and issues were gone, but I had some wicked nausea whenever I tried to move and a horrible headache even when I wasn’t trying to move.
It’s a good thing I made my grocery list early last week. I haven’t wanted to think about food for days.
- Monday Breakfast for dinner
- Tuesday: Tacos
- Wednesday: Spaghetti
- Thursday: BBQ sandwiches
- Friday: Pizza
It is the future, and we have turned our lives over to the geneticists and the statisticians. In return they have given us our ideal jobs, our ideal mates and even our ideal meals, with each nutrient specially chosen to meet our unique needs. A few generations earlier, they even honed our art — music, paintings, poetry — to an essential few pieces to ensure it wouldn’t be too taxing or distracting.