Well... it's February. Thank God January is over. What a vomitous month it was.
Thursday night I was sitting in a very elegant and pricey restaurant with my book club, when I got a call from Hollywood.
"Mom? How do I clean up puke off the kitchen floor?" she asked.
Oh no. This could not be good. Turns out that poor Bumblebee had ran into the kitchen, asked Hollywood (who was babysitting) for a barf bucket, and promptly blew chunks all over the floor.
As I was explaining which cleaner to use on the ralph, Hollywood shouted, "No Merlin! Don't eat it, get out of here!"
And there went my enjoyment of a $40 sea bass dinner. Every time I tried to savor the meal, I thought of the dog thinking, "Jackpot!" when Bumblebee tossed her cookies on the floor.
I spent the rest of the evening taking care of Bumblebee as she upchucked every half an hour or so. I worked from home on Friday, and spent most of Friday night doing seventy loads of laundry and scouring everything. I was trying to get the smell of yack out of my house and hoping madly that my vigilant cleansing efforts would save me from catching the flu.
I was not saved.
I had it all weekend. The Boy had it too. We were both praying to the porcelain god and I, for one, wanted someone to knock me unconscious so that I could get rid of the nauseous spinny feeling I had. I haven't had to do the technicolor yawn in a long time, so I wasn't prepared for this bout of the flu. To add to the fun, I had several nosebleeds thrown in there with the gastric geysers. When it rains, it spews?
I slept most of the weekend, and I can now keep down water and food without throwing up, though I don't feel all that well yet. Here it is another Monday already and I didn't get to make use of a decent weekend. My to-do list is longer than. But at least it's no longer January.
Thank God for that.
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