The BoneBlog

Sunday, December 24:  Ethan poos everywhere while recovering from the stomach flu.  I wash the sheets from his crib 3 times in 1 day.  Visit with Andy & Becky; leave early because Ethan is still feeling poorly.  I wake up at 11:30 p.m. and rush to the bathroom for round 1 of my own bout with the stomach flu.  Greg checks on me at 1:30, asks how I am, I say "I'm really sick" but he thinks I say "I'm okay."  Little sleep until 5:30 a.m. on Monday.

Monday, December 25:  Cancel breakfast with grandparents, cancel lunch with great-grandma (who is also sick); open presents; Ethan sleeps until 9 because he's still sick; afterwards, wakes up and poos all over everything all day, Greg on diaper duty; I go back to bed; get up, eat applesauce; go back to bed; get up and rejoin the living just in time for Laurel to get sick and vomit all over her bedroom floor, Greg cleans it up.  Again.

Moral of the story:  Marry a guy like Greg. 

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me twelve shitty diapers, eleven vomit comets, (just)ten minutes of calm, nine clean-up jobs, eight bottles of pepto, seven cans of sprite, six saltine crackers, five toilet flushes, four o'clock wake-up, three poopy sheets, two sick kids, and one wife who cannot stomach applesauce.

I can't believe I just wrote this instead of washing bottles!

You're friggin' awesome.

Is Greg for hire?  Zach still has this coughy cold and he hurls when he coughs too hard.  I'm out of kitchen towels, running low on paper towels and resigned to wearing nothing but tank tops (less laundry).

I'm sure there's a country song for this.