Typical

There are no photos to describe what the past 24 hours have been like for me. So you will just have to use your imagination. The photo here is from a hike two weeks ago with our friend Mary, who visited from the Northern Neck the weekend we arrived.

A very old and dear friend from Salida came to visit me in Granby Friday night. I have seen her only a handful of times since moving away from Colorado and this was to be the first time she would meet my children. Since she doesn't have children of her own and isn't the world's biggest fan of little kids, I was hoping my children would win her over with their charm, wit and utter cuteness. Or at least not be brats.

Five minutes before she arrived, Sawyer said he wasn't hungry, his tummy hurt and he couldn't wait for my friend anymore, it was time to go to bed. (It was almost 6 p.m). I should have seen the warning signs. I should have bolted the door. I should have known.

My friend walked through the door, said hello and set her bags down, and Sawyer promptly welcomed her by exploding from both ends all over the upstairs bathroom. Arden, terrified that I was leaving her with yet another stranger, clung to me screaming while I tried to keep her a safe distance from the contamination. My poor friend sat downstairs, made us some dinner and probably texted her husband several times requesting a rescue mission.

Sawyer was up about every hour for the rest of the night, alternating between vomiting and crying for water, which kept both me and Arden awake. Arden, who was bunking with me due to the puke-o-rama next door, ran around the bedroom munching on Ritz Crackers and drinking milk at 2 a.m. while I desperately tried to sleep a for even two minutes. Meanwhile, something I had eaten was churning in my stomach, and I was trying to imagine how I was going to do this sick and alone.

Eight loads of laundry later, sometime around 4:30 am, I still hadn't slept. Sawyer was finally holding down water but Arden was now too punchy to sleep. She was wailing at the top of her lungs — absolutely and uncontrollably hysterical in a way I have NEVER seen her — and I was facing one of those deep abysses of parenthood. Nothing I did helped. I was completely exhausted and concerned about my poor friend who had sequestered herself in my room, not to mention the neighbors who could probably hear the racket through the walls.

I carried Arden downstairs, bundled her up and did something I've never done in 3 years of parenting. I put her in the car and drove around the neighborhood. Twice. I just crossed my fingers that Sawyer wouldn't wake up. It worked like magic and I got her back to my room. Put her down in my bed and then crashed on her crib mattress in Sawyer's room. An hour-and-a-half later, everybody was up again and for good.

Sawyer seemed to have made a big recovery and was chatting with my friend downstairs, but Arden was still miserable, crying and clingy. I got the kids to sit down on the couch and watch a movie long enough to allow me a shower. That wonderful, refreshing shower lasted for about five minutes before Arden puked all over me and the bathroom.

My brave friend stuck it out, despite my suggestion that she should feel free to leave us with our own misery. She went for a run and, when the kids seemed somewhat stable, I decided we needed a long drive to conquer this day. We headed to Rocky Mountain National Park. Both kids cried and fussed through the whole thing, but we did manage a short walk. Everyone cat napped on and off in the car, and by the time we got home I was exhausted. The three of us passed out together on the couch while my friend was in the shower.

I woke up several hours later, somewhat refreshed, drank coffee, put my on game face. Only then did I realize that my friend had left . . . hightailed it back to saner places. The kids, of course, were now perky and jovial and playing nicely. They took a mellow bath and went to sleep promptly at 7 pm without the slightest sound. Of course, my friend will never believe me.

All I can do is laugh. No wonder there are about a million sayings for it. Murphy's Law. Par for the course. Typical. Really, I should have known that I was setting myself up. Of course I would have the worst night in three years of parenting on the same night it mattered to me the most that my kids were good and wonderful. What's that saying: If you want to hear God laugh, announce your plans.

I talked to the friend later on the phone and she swears she's coming back soon. We'll see about that, but I'm sure I pretty much drove that last nail in the coffin for her as far as having kids is concerned. Honestly, at this point, I'm kinda wondering about it myself.

UPDATE: Sunday night. The universe is laughing at me. I thought I was going to escape this one. Ha. That wouldn't be enough of a challenge. Moving across the country with the kids alone, starting a new job and new schools and then dealing with sickness all weekend, no sleep. Cakewalk. Let's see how I handle it all when I'm puking too. Tried to get the kids to bed before it started. They, of course, would have nothing to do with it. Wish me luck. It's gonna be another long night.