Everything actually started off great. The big storm we had spent time preparing for last week never hit us, and the kids ended up being really bummed that the power never went out. I think they were imagining eating peanut butter sandwiches by the truckloads and fashioning strobe lights out of camping lanterns, so I can completely understand their disappointment. I, however, was outrageously grateful that I didn't have to learn how to use our new propane heater without blowing up the house.
Saturday morning I woke up to discover Atticus had executed, with the assistance of Todd, a surprise breakfast of bacon and fried eggs for yours truly. It was just sitting and waiting for me at my spot at the table, alongside a note that read, "By Atticus. To Mom. Hope you like it!" So amazing and understated, just like him. It meant so much, and made me so happy.
Something else that made me happy this week? Using this new mug, which I actually got for Todd for Christmas, but have coopted for my own use:
Any other GMM fans in the audience?
Sunday was normal through the day, but right before I went to bed, I started to feel weird. Minor chills, a 'heavy' feeling in my stomach. It turns out, I was coming down with a stomach bug, and spent much of the night awake, getting up occasionally to throw up. In the morning, Todd woke up to find Penelope sick as well, so he stayed home to help juggle things and I slept.
By the afternoon, Todd himself laid down for a nap, and Callista started some serious stomach pyrotechnics. Puking toddlers are always so pathetic - not only do they not feel good, but they have no idea what is happening to them, and there's no way to explain it, so they just look hurt and confused, on top of looking sick.
After everyone was in bed that night, it was Todd's turn to start feeling really terrible. He was up through the night on Monday, and stayed home from work on Tuesday. The rest of Tuesday was uneventful, as was the day on Wednesday. Atticus had an orthodontist appointment in Kansas City in the morning, so Todd took him to that, and the other kids and I hung out at home. I tried getting caught up on laundry and dishes, since illness always seems to spawn extra messes somehow.
I thought we were out of the woods, since it had been nearly 48 hours since anyone had fallen victim to the barfs, so I asked a college gal to come watch the kids so Todd and I could go test drive a big ol' van. (A local church is selling their youth group van, haha. It still has the giant vinyl "SUCH-AND-SUCH BAPTIST CHURCH" stickers along the side. I'm sure I just looked awesome driving it around town.)
Clearly I'm about to become the coolest mom on the block.
We came home from our test drive and I made - of all things - chili for dinner. Big mistake. HUGE. (In my defense, I was making dinner to send over to a friend, and had promised her chili and cornbread earlier in the week, and I just doubled the batch so I was only cooking one meal for both families... it wasn't like I just sat around and thought, 'What would be the dumbest thing I could cook for us at this given moment in time?') Laurelai started feeling queasy right before we ate, so luckily she didn't eat any chili, but everyone else had some. Lo started barfing toward the end of dinner, and spent the rest of the evening on the couch.
Soothing her stomach with D'Aulaire's "Greek Myths." Because Greek myths are so comforting.
Laurelai's temporary bunk station.
She kept throwing up until about 10:30, and then around 2:00 a.m. Atticus came up to say he was sick. He ended up so sick that all the blood vessels in his face are now broken, and he's a blotchy, swollen, bruised mess.
Between barfing kids and worrying that chili-puke would end up on the boys' new (white. WHITE. WHY WHITE?!) bedding, I didn't get much sleep Wednesday night either. Yesterday morning, we skipped our trip to the Amish, since Finneas had had four (FOUR!) bowls of chili the night before and hadn't yet gotten sick, and I was not about to stick him in the car for two hours, even if he was acting fine at the time. The rest of the day yesterday was spent recovering at home: watching movies, taking naps, reading books, skipping school.
Original versions of classic fairy tales, which are cozy and comforting and not at all disturbing.
Which brings us to today. I am so tired, it's painful. Between still recovering from being sick earlier in the week (which always takes longer during pregnancy), and missing so much sleep caring for the kids, and dealing with all the extra laundry and individualized meals, plus actually being pregnant, I am absolutely wiped out. I'll be attempting our Amish trip this morning, but that is always exhausting in its own right, and I'm not sure I have it in me. But I also am dying to leave the house, so we'll see.
Stumpi also hasn't been feeling well lately. I think it's just my pregnant/maternal hormones kicking in, but I am seriously SO worried about this silly little animal's health. I'm watching her eating habits and pooping habits and growth patterns. I'm certain she's communicating with me via eye contact that she's not feeling well. None of it has been looking good. So I finally spent money on pet care for the first time ever (other than buying $2 in bait worms every couple of months): I got her a UVB light to help her produce vitamin D3, and some bedding that is supposed to kill mites and keep her cage cleaner. I have no idea if either one will work, but I feel like I'm helping, so that's good.
Why the poinsettia? Because even though Todd bought it right after Thanksgiving, and even though I've watered it TWICE in the last two months, it refuses to give up the ghost, and I can't in good conscience throw away a perfectly viable plant. So, here it sits. (And yes, I know to watch out for toddlers putting it in their mouths, but poinsettias aren't made of starchy carbs or dairy, so my kids are completely disinterested.)
As for good news, I did get a lot of reading done this week in my perpetual state of on-the-couchness. Here are the books on my table:
A LOT of Sally Clarkson, who is really ministering to me lately. Little Women, which has also surprisingly become a semi-spiritual read. A Charlotte Mason Education because Callista found it somewhere around the house and brought it to me, and I decided it looked just good enough, and just short enough, to tackle right now.
I'm also on track with a yearly Bible read-through plan, but as we're about three weeks into the year so far, I realize this is not a major feat. I also received this sweet little 5-year journal for Christmas, and have been diligent in filling it out almost every day.
I *THINK* I have discovered I have a favorite color.
They never tell you that motherhood is fraught with perils; namely, all the imminent danger you must navigate once the toddlers learn how to click the tops of pens and highlighters. I just discovered this little gem of an art piece this week. I suspect it was done by Rocco at some point, and if I'd been diligent in a Bible read-through plan last year, I probably would have found it sooner. But its been biding its time, waiting patiently for its unveiling.
And finally, to wrap up this ultra-long blog post, here I am in all my pregnancy glory, vacuum-packed into jeans that didn't allow me to breathe well enough to stay standing OR sitting. But gosh darnit if I refuse to buy maternity jeans. (I have owned two pairs in the past, both of which were supremely unflattering and unreasonably expensive, so I just make do without them. Albeit barely, as indicated by the fact that I can't live or move or have my being in normal jeans.) I have a long three months ahead of me if my jeans already don't fit. And with the amount of round ligament pain I've been experiencing, I really think this baby might end up being a chunk, just to spite the chuckleheads at the fetal imaging center. Way to write your own story, Baby Girl!
And now, thank the good Lord this week is OVER! (Although, Rocco and Finneas still haven't gotten sick, so this week has the potential to stretch into next week... pray for our souls and our stomachs, dear ones.)