Moving Mayhem

We are eyebrow deep in this move.  Have I mentioned that I am starting to detest the smell of cardboard and packing tape?  Today we managed to get a LOT done, but the cost is a level of exhaustion that is indescribable.  The boys were mostly good, and Jamie and Raven even managed to help a good bit.  Jamie is in the throes of young love, and every third breath is a sigh of such teenaged angst that it’s palpable.  Almost everything I own is in a box, and either on the carport or the porch.  I am sure the neighbors think I am quite insane by this point, and I really don’t care.

Bobby rounded up the evening with projectile vomiting and fever.  He was sitting in his high chair not eating and all of a sudden turned into Linda Blair.  I can handle all other bodily fluids.  Poop?  It’s just poop, same with pee and blood … no problems.  If you puke?  You won’t be vomiting alone.  I think that I got this quirk from Mom.  I was trying to get the tray off, and get him wiped down when I started retching.  Mom was yelling for Jamie to come get Bobby.  Jamie walked into the kitchen to find me retching into the waste basket, Mom was in a bathroom retching,  and Bobby was covered in his own vomit in his chair.  Together we managed to get him peeled out of the vomit soaked clothes, and Mom helped me get him into a bath.  Got him all cleaned up, and he was crying “Momma Momma” the whole time.  I wrapped him into a towel and was drying him off and he just sagged into my arms with that heaviness that only toddlers seem to be able to generate.  I thought the worse was over.  So, I’m sitting on his bed, (or rather his mattress on the floor) with him wrapped in a towel while I tried to wrangle a sleeper onto him.  He raised his head up, whimpered “Momma”, and proceeded to cover me, my clothes, his towel, and some of the floor in more puke.  Oh joy.  Jamie came in and was trying to get me to put his clothes on.  Screw that.  He can wave in the wind with his skin and a diaper for a little bit.  Even though I have detergent enough to probably last four months, the thought of washing more vomit clothes is more than I can stand.  Bobby fell asleep in my arms, and when I tried to lay him down he started to cry again.  So, Mom threw a shirt to me (because I told her to not come any further lest we all start puking again), and I skivvied out of my puked upon clothes and just cuddled him til he was solidly out cold.  David woke up at nine and was running a 102 degree fever. He was dosed with Tylenol, and I let him run about a bit in just his diaper til he finally got tired enough to put back to bed.  Thank goodness we didn’t have Linda Blair part deux.  I think I’m going to go throw myself onto the bed and pass out.  Because as Scarlett once said, I’ll worry about that tomorrow, tomorrow is another day.

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