In three seconds, Quinn started crying–weeping, really–Luca began barking like someone was breaking into our house, I heard a key in the door, and Saoirse was calling, “Mom! Quinn just barfed! She’s BARFING!!” I’d been downstairs cleaning the laundry room. I kinda wanted to stay downstairs in the laundry room, you know. But I ran up those stairs faster than my cat when she does that crazy zoom-zoom around the house in the middle of the night. And I saw the scene just as David walked in the door, huge smile on his face because he was going to surprise his girls at lunchtime, and saw it too. I give him massive credit for not backing right back out and pretending he never stopped by.
Both of the girls are sick. SK’s on antibiotics now, and Quinn is in the throes of something that seems much, much worse. Twenty-four hours ago she seemed fine. But today she weeps because her eyes are so swollen. She coughs so much that she throws up all over herself. She won’t eat anything, and is wont to curl up on the floor in fetal position, wherever she happens to be in the house, and suck her thumb. Needless to say, she went in for a very early nap today. And, yes, Mom, I’m calling the doctor first thing tomorrow if she doesn’t improve.
SK remained on the living room chair, surveying the scene, while I ran Quinn up to the bathtub for a good soak to wash away all the stuff in her hair, and nose, and hands. My husband, whom I seriously cannot even love more than in times like this, jumped right in, still in his shirt and tie, to scrub the rug and rinse the remnants of Quinn’s morning snack out of her clothes. Are you gagging? Yeah, me too.
Meanwhile, our windows are open, there’s a slight breeze wafting through the screens, and I can hear birds chirping as they chase each other around our yard. It is a picture-perfect spring day that, for some reason (Al Gore would like to tell you why), has reared its beautiful head in the middle of winter. All of these germs and chicken noodle soup and crumbled-up tissues don’t really seem to fit with what is happening outside our house, even though the former is all sorts of season-appropriate. And for the record, I can’t seem to shake the smell of sick from my nose, and it’s grossing me out.
Ah, well. SK is out with her dad at lunch for an impromptu Daddy-daughter date that makes his vomit-scrubbing worth the side trip home. I’m about to check on my Mighty, who is sound asleep, other than the occasional cough. And after that I’m going to sit by the open window for awhile, taking in this little respite from the winter germfest. A friend of mine emailed, saying she was taking her daughters to the park this afternoon. She asked if we’d like to join them. On any other day, I’d be grabbing the shoes and car keys, but I think today we’ll pass. The girls need to recover, obviously, and I should probably do some laundry. I won’t tell you what I just found on my shirt.