Happy Sunday

My poor man is a volcano. Of vomit. And has been since about 6:00 this morning. I hate it when he's sick, like any mom, and that overwhelming since of not being able to fix it takes over and you find yourself offering things that make no sense (can I hold your hair? oh, wait, you are a boy...maybe not).

Let's just all pray that the Great GI bug of 2010:
a) goes away as quickly as it came;
b) has agreed to cease and desist for the day (I seriously don't think my house could smell anymore uninviting; and
c) that it does not make its way from child to mommy to daddy (because mommy has a date with Chris Botti Tuesday night and I will go whether I am full on Linda Blair or not. I will, I tell you).

Now, mommy and daddy swear that they have some super gene that protects them from contracting the usual stomach bugs but as soon as we think that, one of us is sure to be lying naked on the bathroom floor because "it's cold, I just need to be cold." (What is it exactly about the bathroom floor that makes you feel better anyway...if you think about it, do you want to be cheek-pressed on the bathroom floor? In a bathroom your leaky, CDC children use? Yeah, no).

I've not touched food nor water all day hoping that if I deprive said bug of substance it will move on to another host. Which of course means I will be binge eating in less than an hour. But for now, eating in this house is right up there with eating in a hospital, a bus stop or a bathroom at the fairgrounds -- ain't gonna happen. (Yes, I liken those things to each other because they all skeeve me out in their own very special way.)

At what age do kids start voluntarily making it to the bathroom before losing their lunch anyway? Because I'd like to give myself and my husband that glimmer of hope at the end of the vile tunnel. Little people throw up anywhere. And everywhere unfortunately. Ugh. I feel like I need to be Silkwood-ed or HAZMT-ed or something. Boiled? No?

We are quiet inside, he's finally asleep on the sofa, our lovely black sailcloth curtains are keeping out all the light and I'm sure our neighbors think we are having a Boo Radley day. Let's just hope it works to recuperate the wild thing that is my child and return him to his normal state.

Fingers crossed and candles lit. (Oh, lots of candles lit...especially of the aromatherapy variety.)