Plagued

Oh yes, that sums it up EXACTLY! That is the sign that should be posted at my front door. No Happy Harvest sign,no Christmas wreath, no Happy New Year um, what have you. But this sign, up there.


The kids come in from their dad's lastnight, the usual bickering that comes in the door. No joyful, helping each other with the bags. Not my children, they wouldn't dream of helping each other bring stuff in from a long freaking weekend spent with their father and obviously, and apparent nagging (hmm bummer) step-motherdearest. What a shame. (NOT) It really is a shame for them.


My littlest guy stands against the wall, looking very wiped out, standing. against. the. wall. It is obviously holding him upright at this moment. I can see that something is still upsetting him. He was very upset in the morning on the way to church and when we got out of the van, I just stood with him for a moment as he grabbed me and let out a little cry and hugged me and told me he wanted to come home. I felt for him. I wanted to tell him he could come home, but I can't tell him that, it is his father's weekend.


Christina had been telling me how Tita had been screaming and yelling at him all weekend because he was being a brat; which I really find hard to believe. Not because he is an angel, being my son. But because he really is a good little boy. Maybe because he is at my home. Where he has boundaries anyway. I suppose this is why I find it hard to believe him being a brat. I do believe he can be pesty, but for her to scream and yell; a trained pediatrician, nontheless; hmmmm, well, where do I go from here???


Back to my little man holding up the wall; he tells me has a tummy ache and he's cold. He did just walk in from 30 degree, NO hat - what was his father thinking? And I have been on Nicholas all day about the hat thing.


Dad comes to the door behind a very angry Christina (12) who barges past me, "Yeah, I took her MP3 away because of her attitude in the van; she had to sit in the back and didn't like it."


blah blah blah............I was going to take it for my reasons, too. I know all about the attitude. ciao.


Let's all get to the table now! Meanwhile Lexi, yes, she is starving at this point, and yelling ,"PASTA" is under my feet. Gotta love this kid. She is so funny. What to do? Put her to work! Give the kid a job and she gratefully does it. I gave her things to bring to the table, and she brought them TO the table. I know what she will be doing on Thursday!


So we are sitting for dinner, ahhhh, spaghetti and meatballs! I have been craving a good old fashioned Sunday supper like this for months! So I finally convinced Frank to make it. Yeah, I could have, but hey, I like Frank to cook on Sunday.


Nick had sucked down a cup of apple juice and requested a cup of milk. "I want you to eat a little meatball first, buddy, ok."


"I'm freezing, Mom. Can I have a blanket."


By now, I'm getting the feeling that this child is getting S.I.C.K. in the tummy area. He feels warm to the touch. Not eating the meatballs????? Oh, definitely.


Frank leaves the table. Suddenly, Nick sits up straight and puffs his little cheeks out; this weird sound emits from his tummy. A rumbling, roaring sound that you KNOW cannot be stopped, controlled, no matter what you do.


My girls, both Christina and Cinderisa spring from their chairs with lightening speed - and I swear I didn't see them leave the room. Lexi, she just kept right on eating and coaxing him, "Mick, Mick, Mick"


I'm doing something like command control - no flags - "Run, to the bathroom, GO GO GO!"


To the right of the table he blows! Then he climbs MY DINING ROOM CHAIRS! (are you kidding me man????)


To the left of the table where the dog is laying just a few feet away, and in his direction - (serves him right) picture the dog squinting his eyes: Nick's head starts to spin as the juice comes flying out at Rocco.


Through the living room and on the way down the stairs, he stops; yep, on the newly carpeted steps. but. of. course. The girls in the background, are like crowd noise. They are just standing in the kitchen, hoping and praying he doesn't come near them; and at the same time, they are giving him directions and clueing Frank in as to what is going on and where he is.

GIRLS:"Oh, Nick, Not on Rocco! Frank, he just got Rocco
Here he comes. Go down to the bathroom, Nick, we turned the lights on for you!
Oh, not on the steps. He missed."

FRANK:"He got Rocco?
he puked on the stairs? THE NEW RUG?"
he emerges from the computer - "aww that's ok, little buddy"

BARFMAN: "I want my Mom! I want my Mom" Yeah, well, I'm just upstairs throwing paper towels everywhere. and laughing. oh, and trying to eat meatballs, would you believe it? with...

LEXI: "Want more Mom. More pasta meatball Mom."


It all unfolded in roughly 5 minutes. The cleanup time, that was another ordeal. Besides the dinner cleanup we still had; I had, I HAD to clean up the rest of the mess everywhere. Literally. I'm not sure really what parts of it were funniest, it was all hysterical. I was laughing through all of it, AND I actually told my friend Robin lastnight, when I was telling her about this, at least they give me blog fodder.


The girls were grossed out at me and Lexi sitting there finishing our meatballs. She's yelling for Mick! The dog had to be thrown outside for, well, obvious reasons I refuse to think about, because I will just get sick on. EEWWW. He just barked and barked and barked. Frank was in the computer room yelling SHUT UP! Yeah, like that was going to do anything. Those are times I wish I could call my friend Cesar and just hand him the phone.

Stupid dog squinting his eyes when Nick was blowing at him. I mean he didn't even think to get out of the way! DUHM DOHG!

I am thankful for the giant container of disinfecting wipes I buy. Because the girls and I wiped down every nook and cranny, every door knob and light switch, microwave, fridge, counter, cabinet, railing, you basically name it. It sparkles with disinfecting, germ- free, I'm clean! I love my Libman mops that I can throw in the washer when they get icky. Yes that is a word.


Rocco was thankful to be able to come in to a warm and stange-smelling house. Frank made sweet potato pies. There is no room in my refridg for ANYTHING! ANY. THING. We will try to eat meatballs with a different pasta tonight since our meal was rudely interupted last evening.

I must tell you, my sick little boy kept hugging my arm and saying, "I'm sorry Mom, I'm sorry" I kept saying to him, "There is no need for apologizing when you're sick Nicholas. Sick just happens. But if you make Mommy sick, I will beat you up baby!" then he giggled and threw up a little more. And that was the end of it.

He had a fever for a few hours. We read his comic Bible for a little while. He sipped some giner ale and slept throught the night. When he woke this morning, he was running up and down the walls like his normal self. Until he said, "Uh-oh, I need to change. I tooted and it was wet"
It was then I realized, it hasn't quite left him.

I wondered if I should call his dad and let him know about him getting sick and all. I thought about that last little scuttle I had with him, and the one I'm sure we'll have real soon; I thought I'd leave it up to you; I think I know your answer. I mean, it WAS pretty short lived and all, riiight.

Have a really nice day
Deborah