Barfing Blows

I suffered some terrible retribution these past two days, most likely a direct result of my hating humanity. I haven't barfed in years and had forgotten how unpleasant it is. Dyl woke up crying a couple of days ago, and when we went racing upstairs, found him covered in spew. Partially digested Hawaiian Pizza, to be more precise. The kid has a real history with that particular pizza, which has kept him from it for the better part of the last 5 years. I thought nothing of the episode, until it happened on the hour, every hour for the rest of the night.

Dyl is an easy sick kid. He pukes in a bucket, or the toilet and lays on the couch. No drama, no mess, just big sunken eyes and 24 hours of Sprite and cartoons.

I thought it was an isolated incident related to the pizza, until Dawson called to us early Wednesday morning. I shot out of bed with Dave, and together we raced up the stairs. Before I could get to Daws, though I had to make a beeline for Em's bathroom. Long, disgusting, story short; Daws and I both came down with the bug.

I am never sick. When I am, it is total drama. With both Dawson and I laying on the couch moaning, and writhing with abdominal discomfort, I started to think of all the things God could be punishing me for.

Being sick is not fun. Being a sick mother with 2 healthy kids and one puker is way worse. I would just barely get Dawson settled from his latest spew, and be hunkered over the john myself, with Emma sitting on the floor watching me and Dyl leaned up against the door, asking me if I would puh-lease get him some breakfast. "Um, just a second, son" I would manage to get out, while spitting the last chunks of taco salad from the night before.

I managed breakfast, and to get Dyl on the bus and Em down for a nap, before I totally lost all motor function and retired to my bed with Dawson. Daws is a bad one to be sick with. He is equally, if not more dramatic than myself and his whimpers are excruciating. While we were lying there, me offering all the remedies I could conjure, and him declining everything, he suggested we say a prayer. I offered one up, though I was only half convinced I hadn't brought this on myself, due to my lack of compassion at work, as of late. Daws, felt better though and while we wasted away there he kept saying that Heavenly Father would help us.

The final straw in the drama, came after a particularly hard bile barf of Dawson's. He collapsed on the bed, and with the back of his hand on his forehead, he exclaimed, "I just want my old life back." I couldn't help but laugh, and then he started laughing. He is so my kid.

It is now Thursday night. We are both feeling a little better, no vomiting, just flu hangover type stuff, and a very strong resolve to be more compassionate.