As the title suggests, this post is all over the place. It is about almost everything except the Superbowl and Downton. Also, it is not for the scatologically faint of heart.
Let me sum up. It's one of those kids get sick and gross things happen and
they are horrifying and now I'm going to write about them posts.
Basically, it's been a complete shitshow at our house.
I mean this both literally and figuratively. Not like, "I literally died of embarrassment." Which always makes me want to punch the sayer in the face.
It's up there with less and fewer for me. You didn't literally die. You're just an idiot.
Oh. Speaking of:
Sooo Thursday of the week before last, we had a puking incident at Jordan's school. In which his teacher called and said, "Jordan just threw up all over the classroom."
Direct quote: all over the classroom.
Yes. So. Have you seen the movie Stand by Me?
I haven't seen it since the 80s, and in fact, have some vague idea of having watched it in the basement of the embassy in Delhi, where they had a movie theatre. I definitely saw Footloose there, that I know for sure. And Mad Max. Back when Mel Gibson was young and hot and not obviously anti-Semitic.
On a side bar, when Sasha's mom suggested we go to the reggae dance party, Nick jokingly said, "Not if that fucker Sasha's dad is going."
So her mom and I keep ourselves amused with a pretend rivalry between our husbands. She suggested a 6 am time for them to fight it out, and I said, "Thunderdome!"
You know: "two men enter, one man leaves."
(And do I seem to be overusing colons in this post?)
Now I will text and say that Nick is oiling his leather chaps and sharpening his mace, and she will text back saying her husband is in a unitard with his light saber at the ready.
It would all be very awkward if it were true. Although I myself have always always wanted a light saber. Even more than I wanted legwarmers in the 80s.
In any case, there is this one scene in Stand by Me in which there is a blueberry pie eating contest. Which devolves into a barf-o-rama. The chain reaction of vomiting is really quite dramatic.
This scene clearly so impressed itself upon my now-feeble memory that, when Jordan's teacher called last Thursday to say that he had thrown up all over the classroom, my mind went straight to the blueberry pie barf-o-rama.
Which is, incidentally, a word I have never used before.
So Betty rushed to get bring him home, and he was fragile, but then he was fine. Kind of tired, no appetite, but nothing more.
And then Saturday on a family outing, halfway home, he threw up in Nick's car. A lot. We were all cold with the windows open is all I'm going to say about that. Oh, and it's been scrubbed, and yet...
Then on Monday he complained of extreme stomach pain, and the pediatrician said they were afraid it might be appendicitis.They gave us official papers and sent us to the ER at Children's Hospital.
(I now feel like I'm writing an illness version of The Very Hungry Caterpillar. On Monday he puked all over one bed. But he was still sick. On Tuesday...)
See what happens when I spend so long without writing? I'm all, oh and then...hey look! Mel Gibson! Unitards! Stinky poop!
But back on track. So we spent a good chunk of Monday at Children's making sure that Jordan did not have appendicitis. Which, apparently, is hard to diagnose in kids, and too serious to mess around with. Thus the ushering to the ER.
Thankfully, he did not. He had a terrible stomach virus. And a bonus ear infection!
Also. Let me take this opportunity to tell you that the bathrooms at Children's rival both those on Amtrak and at the Columbia Height's Target. They will certainly be noted in my 2013 Guide to Terrible Bathrooms of DC and Environs.
It's a companion to my Awesome Places to Nurse in DC.
Even after the vomiting went the way of all good things, Jordan stayed home for most of last week with wretched diarrhea of the foulest, yellowest variety imaginable. Accompanied by stomach pain and hideous gas.
I don't know if you yourself have ever had parasites?
I was beginning to think it was Giardia or something of the sort, because this was the toxic evil smell of deathly death, like Voldemort slithering around wreaking havoc in one's
bowels, rearing his ugly head every so often. (Rearing, ha!) Seriously worse than the shameful incident on the plane.
It is so heart-wrenching to have a kid who has made it to big-boy status, who proudly wears underwear, turn to you terrified, eyes wide and tears spilling over, all, "Mommy! The poop is coming out!"
You assure him that it is OK, sweetheart, and Mama will take care of it. And you rush with him to the toilet and hold their hands and pretend that not only are you not about to pass out from the stench, but you are so proud of him for doing such a good job even though you know that it is scary. You know that really he just wants to curl up in your lap but nowayinhell is that happening until that shit is out. (Literally)
Is basically where we've been the past week or so.