TGIF

Ahhhhh Friday. Here at last. Even a stay-at-home mama such as myself appreciates a good Friday. The jam-packed week full of appointments, errands, and playdates come to a close with the promise of a relaxing evening, maybe a glass of wine, maybe a movie with the hubby, followed by a jam-packed weekend full of parties, barbecues, and visits to the beach. The latter is what my hubby informed me today that he had in mind for tomorrow. Our third-born's first visit (while outside the uterus) to the beach and the season's inaugural visit for the whole clan. I was going to relish this Friday, with its morning of cleaning followed by a playdate with my daughter's favorite friend and capped off with an evening of dinner and wine with some of my girls.

And then last night happened. First, Ella woke up at eleven with a terrible cough and a fever. Yay. We spent most of the night taking turns cuddling her and administering infant tylenol in the always-accurate dose. Then Owen awoke. He "didn't feel good." I remember making this statement as a child and thinking that it said it all. As a parent, it might be the most frustrating sentence to hear. WHAT doesn't feel good?? Anyhow, he went back to sleep in the recliner, so we wrote it off. Fast forward eight hours. My phone rings, and it's Owen's teacher explaining that his belly hurts and even 25 minutes of toilet-sitting have done nothing to help the situation. Super. So I pick him up (and he insisted that I carry all 45 pounds of him. Awesome.) and take him home, putting him up in our darkened bedroom watching Star Wars. Scott lays with him, and pretty soon we are seeing the tell-tale signs of impending puking. You know, the cold clammy skin, the quiet groans, the gurgling stomach. Scott does his best to explain what throwing up might feel like, as at the age of nearly-five, the child is lucky enough to never have experienced it. So with the explanation that it might feel like your food wants to come back out of your mouth really fast (not a bad explanation, I thought), we settled in to wait. And sure enough, inside of an hour. Owen gave his breakfast back. Yum. And can I just say thank God for Daddy! Because, as all-mom as I am, I cannot CANNOT do vomit. I suppose if push comes to shove and I'm the only one home with a sicky, I'll handle it, but let's not test that theory, k? So Daddy handled clean-up of both boy and barf very calmly. Crisis averted.

But that Friday plan? Yea, that's way out the window. No cleaning happened this morning. Too tired from a night up with the fevered one. And no playdate. Didn't want to expose our favorite friends to aforementioned fever. And dinner and wine with friends? Enh. (That's supposed to be a buzzer sound. Hmm.) And beach tomorrow. Double enh. Too bad. But still, TGIF. Because if today is F, then tomorrow is S, and any day that begins with S is good. I hope. At any rate, Daddy is home to suffer with me through whatever S may bring. Cheers to teammates!