Intestinal Distress, Part Deux

Everyone woke up from their naps feeling super wonderful and I wondered why I made such a big deal out of a few barfs in a Sonic sack. When Jill picked up Chandler, I told her that I thought everyone was okay and he should be okay to come back tomorrow. She said she'd call later to check in, but in my mind things were okay. I should just learn to quit thinking anything positive. You know we're fastly approaching July 3rd and that is NOT a good day for the Diva family, so I figure this is just preparing us for cataclysm.

Anyway, Mr. Diva got home at 5:45, which is precisely the time he and Sam should've been leaving. He stormed in that front door and said he wasn't taking him. He said he was hot and he'd stay with the girls. Well, for one thing I wasn't ready, I had just started a music download, I had laundry going and I'd already told the girls we were staying home so they were veggin'. I whined, which I guess I shouldn't have. It ended up with him blowing up in a nasty way and grabbing Sam and stomping out the door. I followed them outside and told Sam to get back here, there was no way I was letting that man drive with my son in the truck the way he was acting. Poor Sammy - it's bad enough his parents were screaming at each other, but then we started a nasty parent tug of war where Daddy says "Get in the truck, boy" and Momma says, "No, get over here, honey," and on and on it goes. That poor kid was so torn. He didn't want to make Daddy any madder, but he also knew I was serious about him not riding with his angry father. The kids don't like being around Mr. Diva when he's like that and I can't say I blame them. He ran to me and buried his face in my waist and I could've died a thousand deaths at the look on that baby's face. Parents shouldn't do that to their children and I felt horrible. So horrible.

I calmly (on the outside only) went back inside, quietly told the girls to get their shoes on and get to the van. Sam would not detach himself from me. I was cursing his father silently, cursing myself and all the while wanting to just sit down and bawl. When we got to the van, Kady was crying because her tummy hurt and she didn't want to go to town, she wanted to stay home, Sam was near tears because he had just been made to choose between parents, Abby was bitching that she was hot and shaky and hungry and then my tears started. We all took some deep breaths, I hugged them all and told the girls that it was cool that we were going and that Sam needed some support since it was his first big kid karate class. He perked up a bit that most of his family was going to be there for his debut and things settled down. I prayed all the way to town - for peace, serenity, strength, wisdom and a divorce.

Sam did great with the big kids. He was nervous as all get out, but he did super. He learned something called a "seven step" (and he's practiced it virtually nonstop all evening) and enjoyed the drills they did.

About halfway through class Kady got this distressed look on her face and said, "OOH MOMMA MY TUMMY HURTS AGAIN!!" so I scooped her up and ran her to the bathroom where she exploded into the toilet. Poor kid. When that was over she seemed okay and we went back to class. When his hour was up, we all loaded back up into the van. Abby hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and said she was starving. Kady said she was hungry too, so I told them I'd pull into Braum's and get them some chicken strips. I was nearing the driveway to Braum's when my MomRadar went off and I looked back in time to see my youngest barf all over herself. I wheeled into a tire shop and jumped out to comfort and clean up my puke-laden child. She was bawling and stinky and very, very upset. I stripped her down, cleaned her up, hugged her (and gagged a few times) and was so glad I'd had the presence of mind to grab a trashcan on the way out of the house. I threw her carseat in the back of the van, had Ab give hers up (it's a flat booster) and put Kady back in with trashcan close by. I felt the tears threaten again, but managed to keep it controlled. As we pulled back out into traffic, I heard Sam say from the backseat, "Two down. One to go." I love that kid.

I pulled into Arby's to get Ab some chicken strips and of course, they had to go find the chickens, kill and pluck them before they could fry them and in that long span of time Kady barfed twice more.

I realize I didn't use the best judgement by hitting a drive-thru, but hey, I was a little scrambled.

We got home, I informed their father that now both girls were sick, but he stayed on the ladder, painting the playhouse, totally ignoring our presence. I got everyone in the house, a pallet made on the couch for Kady and looked around to find Abby nowhere. I found her in the bathroom, leaning over the toilet, white as a sheet and shaking. So the chicken strips were a really rotten idea.

I made another pallet on the couch, turned on some cartoons and called Jill to tell her that I really didn't think Chan should come over tomorrow. She heartily agreed. When I hung up the phone, Kady started screaming that her tummy hurt again and off we ran to the bathroom again. She sat on the toilet bawling, pooping, and when she said, "I don't wanna be sick anyyyyymoooorrrreeeeeee," I lost it. I wiped her little bottom and scooped her up into my arms, sat on the side of the tub and we both bawled for a little while. Then Sam came in, sat on the toilet and guess what - diarrhea. He goes, "Oooh, guess I got it, too, eh?"

My living room looks like Jonestown - bodies everywhere. Both girls are on the couch with trashcans positioned at each end. Sam is curled up in the big chair. All furniture is draped in blankets to protect the upholstery. All three are sleeping in a Phenergan-induced slumber and I'm nauseated. Mr. Diva's asleep in the recliner, so that means I'm doing floor-duty tonight.

I've seen better days.