A killer frost descended across Oklahoma over the weekend, nipping our glorious spring blossoms in the bud.
I know this because I kept getting updates on my phone and they were extremely annoying.
Annoying because they invariably chimed whilst my head was stuck in a trash can, for alas, just a few hours after my last hope-filled post I became ill. Very ill indeed. I betook my bed and did not forsake it for 36 restless hours. The only reason I'm out of bed now is that the rest of my family also became ill, very ill indeed, and desperately needed their mamma. Being temporarily bereft of an upstairs maid, downstairs maid, governess, nanny, housekeeper, cook, butler, chauffeur, or even a lowly scullery maid, I hefted myself off my fainting couch and sought the arduous way to Ye Olde Wal-Marte. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Sweet Miss Sherry had saved the day on Friday by delivering Gatorade, crackers, homemade soup, anti-nausea drugs and love. I couldn't even sit up straight and without her we would surely have all perished.
My handsome Knight in a shining Suburban took all the kids on errands Saturday morning as I continued to convalesce. I spent several happy hours sipping beef broth and reading The Fellowship Of The Ring.
But evil was astir in the Shire. Something was not quite right with my happy hobbits. Sure enough, they began to drop like flies. One after another they all began puking in inconvenient places, which called for my return from my peaceful bedroom exile. By the late afternoon it was clear, we needed more Gatorade! I tried my best to think calmly and rationally about what else we might need, but I was thoroughly discombobulated. Shortly after my return Robert got sick.
After an icky night with icky sounds echoing from all corners of the house, I woke up feeling utterly contaminated.
That's what I forgot to get at the store.
"NOBODY BRUSH YOUR TEETH UNTIL I GET BACK!!!"
All I received was blank stares and eye rolls. Like anyone ever brushes their teeth uncoerced around here. I quite literally could take all day to replace the toothbrushes and no one would care. It was kind of a luxurious feeling. But there's no time to luxuriate. I became the skilled nurse, cook, parlor maid, nanny, butler, and all round slave to a household held hostage under the black flag of the Norovirus.
It didn't take long for me to look around at the chaos of my surroundings and get Fed Up. Fed Up with scores of junky plastic cups covering every flat surface but none belonging to any individual. Fed Up with spilled drinks and grimy toddlers who have contaminated each and every drinking vessel. (Wonder who got us all sick in the first place. Not blaming anyone in particular, Ana!) Fed Up with medicines and medicine cups all over the cabinet and counter and even more fed up with calling poison control every time Ana figures out how to open yet another bottle. Fed Up with never having what I need on hand when the dreaded stomach virus strikes. Fed Up with feeling yucky! And when I get fed Up, this happens:
The second box, on the right is my handy dandy Stomach Virus Survival Kit. Contained in this stylish and 100% recycled container:
disposable gloves, for touching the untouchable
paper towels, for cleaning the unspeakable
anti-emetics, to be carefully hoarded until the next emergency or Miss Sherry needs them back
canned soup for whoever is not sick and needs a quick meal
and not included, but it would be a great idea, a fresh pack of toothbrushes
Next on my Fed Up checklist, those pesky cups
I purchased these sports bottles for each child, being careful to avoid the ones with the plastic straws. I have very bad luck with plastic straws. They tend to get lost or moldy. I'm never convinced that they are clean enough. I like these because they are heavy enough to not fall over willy-nilly when empty, the cover pops off at the push of a button and they are perfect to take with us on the go. I took the tray that heretofore had housed Cy's various and sundry medications and turned it into our official drink tray. Each child has their name written on a piece of paper which is tucked into a ziploc bag. Voila! Instant waterproof name tags! Each bottle is expected to be placed on the appropriate name tag. No leaving them in the bedroom or the living room or outside. No drinking out of a random stranger's cup. No drinking out five separate cups and then claiming to not have a cup out at all. Did I mention I'm Fed Up?!
I'm also Fed Up with never finding a pencil, eraser, scissors or markers when I need them.
Uh, wait . . . Please disregard that outbreak. I've not been feeling myself lately, but I'm over it now. And no, I'm not rubbing my hands together in a sinister manner and chortling under my breath. I'm rubbing in lotion and humming. Now if you will get back to the story . . .
There it is, a clean and uncluttered space with a plan to keep it that way. I don't feel Fed Up and I don't feel quite so icky anymore.
Tomorrow is Monday and once again I will take up my quest to bring order and harmony within the borders of my domain.
Will the chilling frosts of untoward circumstances nip my fledgling schedule in the bud?
Or have I nipped the bane of Fed Up-ittiness and all around icky attitudes in the bud?
I guess we'll have to turn the page and read the next chapter.