My Sob Story

Let's recap: Tuesday I got achy and feverish. Wednesday, I felt a lot better, but still achy and feverish. Thursday the "sick" part of my sickness hit. And today I felt a lot better, but still have no appetite. And it's good that I felt a lot better because Luke worked from 7:30 am to 10 pm today and will be working from 9:30 am to 5 pm tomorrow, so at least I can be civil to my kids since I have to spend two days alone in the house with them. Ben has been sick for a week. He has a runny nose that just won't quit and has started to have nasty poop. It's not the big D, but well, let's just refer to it as "pea soup poop"--green and mushy and stinky (well, I actually like pea soup a lot, but maybe not anymore) . I knew I should have taken him to the doctor today, because I know darn well that the Dimetapp's not helping and that it's moved beyond a cold and into sinus infection territory, but I stupidly thought "let's just wait two more days and if he's not better by Monday, I'll take him in then". Besides, I had to go to the post office and mail invitations to all of Luke's family for Ben's upcoming b-day party, so we all know there'd be no time for the doctor anyway (and there wasn't...we were in that d#&% post office for 45 min!). So, the stage is set for a not-so-fabulous weekend anyway.

Fast-forward to 7:15 this evening...I'm checking the blog, Patrick is upstairs playing and Ben is happily watching Baby Einstein. Patrick urgently yells to me that he has to go poop, but this is nothing extraordinary--he always says it urgently. I holler at him to go and I will be right up to help him wipe (how long does this last, by the way?). A minute later he comes down and says he pooped in his pants, then pulls them down to show me a big wet fart. I put him on the toilet and start rinsing his underpants while he does some naaaaasty stuff in the toilet. When he's done, I tell him to go upstairs and put a pull-up on, just in case. So he heads back upstairs, but not quickly enough, apparently, because a minute later he is running back down the stairs, poop (oh yes, it's the big D) streaming down his legs and into his socks screaming "MOOOOOOOMMYYYYYYYYYYYY! I POOPED ON MY FLOOOOOOOOR! Great. Just great. So I plop him back on the toilet, add the socks to the ever-growing pile of clothes in the sink, threaten him within an inch of his life if he moves, and go upstairs to survey the damage. OH. MY. HEAVENS. There is not enough cleaning product in the world to take care of this mess. My first thought was "I'm going to have to get new carpet...tomorrow." An hour later, and lots of dishwasher detergent (which works surprisingly well) later, the room no longer smells like a sewage treatment center, although it does smell strange and not entirely pleasant. I may have to take Mandy's suggestion and saturate the carpet with vinegar. I don't care if it burns holes in the carpet...that's just less carpet to smell.

So my story ends with me being sick one more time (nice) and then calling Dr. P.J., who is my boss' husband, and pleading with him to call a prescription in for Ben and give me free advice on what to do with Patrick besides keep him in pull-ups until I see a regular poop again. And for once, I don't feel sorry about hitting up P.J. for free medical service while he's eating dinner on a Friday night. This time, I just feel sorry for myself.