...let me COUNT THE WAYS.
I cleaned vomit off the top bunk.
I cleaned vomit off the bottom bunk.
I cleaned vomit off the bunk bed ladder and the floor.
I cleaned one child's vomit out of the hair of another.
I cleaned up after the world's grossest fucking diaper, BAR NONE.
I cleaned up...the crib. Enough said.
I cleaned vomit off the wall of the nursery, and the rocking chair.
Also my brand-new, dry-clean-only sweater that I was stupidly wearing because that was before reality set in and all hope was shattered into a million disgusting, crusty pieces.
I called the on-call pediatrician to find out if I needed to take my terrifyingly listless, still-unable-to-keep-solids-down-after-72-hours toddler to the ER or not.
I went to the store for more Pedialyte only to realize I was standing in the stationary aisle, staring at sympathy cards and slowly going mad with fever.
I came home and experienced some...digestive distress.
I lay in bed and moaned at the ceiling fan while Jason baked the children COOKIES, since Noah was feeling so much better and Ezra...well, Ezra would probably be fine too, right?
I lay in bed and muttered feverish I TOLD YOU SO'S while Jason cleaned vomit off the bottom bunk. Again.
I cleaned up three puddles of cat vomit off my bedroom floor because why the fuck not, you useless lump of hairballs.
I noticed my six-year-old suddenly scratching his head a lot, because ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME.
I composed a pointed email to his school mostly to satisfy my need to tell another adult to DO something already. FIX something. HELP ME with something. I CANNOT SOLVE THE ONGOING KINDERGARTEN LICE SITUATION SINGLE-HANDEDLY OVER HERE, ESPECIALLY BECAUSE WE ARE ALL THE FUCK OUT OF CLEAN SHEETS AND TOWELS.
I treated, combed, shampooed, cleaned, sprayed, laundered, bagged, quarantined and combed again.
I called a different on-call pediatrician to find out if I needed to take my still listless, able-to-keep-some-solids-down-but-now-having-diarrhea-every-30-minutes toddler to the ER.
I did not take anyone to the ER.
I got better.
Now I just have a really bad cold and a need to make up for about a million hours of sleep.
(But hey! I made the Huffington Post!)
Everybody else got better too.
So far, as of this minute.
It's been a good minute.
I'll take it.
(Just like I happily took Jason's "I'm Sorry Everything Is Terrible, Go Take A Bath And Let Me Handle Things For Awhile Before You Have A Psychotic Break" gift of Lush and red wine. He really is SUCH a good one, misguided mid-onslaught baking attempts aside.)