This weekend was a long weekend. Daughter and Older Son's birthdays are today and tomorrow respectively. So to celebrate the occasions, it was Daughter's weekend to decide where we were going to eat. It also meant a trip to the next town. Now Younger Son has been fussy all weekend long, crying at the drop of a hat over nothing, and overall just wanting to misbehave. He got up this morning complaining about a sore throat and with a cough that made me cringe. So I drugged him with Triaminic and sent him to school. Fifteen minutes after school starts, my phone rings.
"Younger Son's in the bathroom. He's sick."
"I'm on my way."
So I went the 5 miles or so to pick him up. The boy I put on the bus this morning was not the same boy I picked up. Before the bus he looked fine. At the school, he looked sickly. Even his lips were blue (which is usually what happens when he gets sick like this). Do they have lights in there that just magnify sickness? Walking out to the car, I asked him, "Did your belly feel bad this morning?"
"You didn't tell me that this morning." He says nothing. So driving on the way home I got to thinking about the entire weekend. "Younger Son, have you felt bad all weekend?"
Crap. That means we've all been exposed to it, who knows how long he was carrying it before it hit. And you know how when someone in the house has something you feel like you're coming down with it? I really don't feel too good. My stomach is queasy and I'm hoping that it's sympathy sickness, since I've got to take Older Son to a halloween strings concert tonight.
And why is it that when kids get sick, they want to eat everything they really don't need. Younger Son didn't really eat any breakfast this morning, understandably, and finally ate a popcicle and a couple of crackers a little bit ago. But once he realized it was lunch time, he started looking for food. He wanted bologna. I told him I really didn't think he needed bologna. So he said hot dog. Same thing. I offered him chicken noodle soup and said a quiet thank you when he turned the grease down. So he finally picked out spaghettio's. Probably not the best choice but hey, he's eating. So I go back into the kitchen and tell him he left the refrigerator door open, alarms going off in the back of my mind. Why was the door open? What did he need in the fridge for spaghettios? He proudly says, "See what I did?" Then I realize, the meat tray is open and the hot dogs are gone. He put hot dogs in his spaghettios. After I told him he didn't need hot dogs.
Glad I'm not the one who ate them.