After that lightning-fast trip home to upstate NY for the funeral, I managed to wrench my lower back something awful when I went to change out of my funeral clothes.
Since I could hardly walk, I skipped church on Sunday morning to lay in bed, sleep, and hopefully let the Naprosyn ease up the backache.
However...Hubby wasn't feeling quite right. See, on New Year's Eve, as he was getting out of our van in my parents' driveway (which is on a pretty steep angle), he conked himself in the left temple with the point of the door. He thought he had enough clearance to close it...but didn't.
He now thought he had a concussion.
He went to the walk-in clinic and they told him to go straight to the ER.
So that's what we did.
One CT and two and a half hours later, the ER doc stated that Hubby had sinusitis, not a concussion (no signs of trauma on the scan), gave him a script for a Z-pack, and sent him home.
Allrightythen.
Apparently, sinusitis can cause some of the concussion-like symptoms Hubby was having.
I sent my folks a text message to update them on Hubby's condition. Dad replied back, "Seems he thought it was a concussion, but it'snot." Hee.
* * *
Monday morning, Small Fry was in our bed and announced she wasn't feeling well.
Her temp was elevated, but I couldn't exactly call it a fever just yet. We had her get dressed for school. My back, while still stiff, was feeling somewhat better, so I was really hoping it was just a case of the sleepy-warms.
No such luck.
Even after getting dressed, she was still too warm...and now officially running a fever. Large and Medium went to school, and Small stayed home with me.
We laid in bed and watched Disney Junior most of the morning. I had a hard time getting Small to stay still throughout the day. Back to school tomorrow, thinks I.
I picked up Medium and Large, and Large told me in her mopey, "poor me" voice that she had gone to the nurse twice that day because her belly hurt.
Huh. I got no call from the nurse.
Large wasn't running a fever, so clearly she wasn't that bad off.
I had her wait for Hubby to help her with her math homework, though, because I could already tell that I didn't have the necessary patience to help her add three 2-digit numbers.
* * *
I went up to CVS to drop off prescriptions for Hubby and Large, and then ran to the grocery store to pick up stuff for dinner. That's when I noticed a missed call from my dad, and a new voicemail.
Dad had called to check up on Hubby. I wasn't sure if Dad was still on his way to choir rehearsal or if he would be in rehearsal by then, but I called him back. I said that Hubby was otherwise fine, but had been falling asleep at his desk at work, so I had taken his script in and was shopping for dinner. And Cheerios, since Large was saying she wasn't feeling well. And was apparently having dry heaves.
Or not-so-dry heaves, as it turned out. Yayness.
I was still in the store when I got a text from Dad. He said that one of his carpool choir buddies thought that Hubby just didn't want to have to testify about Benghazi. I laughed out loud, right there in the store.
Large was on the floor in the kitchen, right in front of the back door, when I got home from shopping. When I asked why on earth she was laying right there, she cried that she needed a bowl. I reminded her that she had one up in her room; she could go get that. I had to bring in the rest of the groceries.
Then I nuked the steam-in-the-bag corn and the chicken wings and thighs and made dinner plates for the twins.
Medium asked to sit in the middle (no biggie).
Small Fry burst into tears.
Because she didn't feel good.
Despite having apparently swallowed a Mexican jumping bean with her Cheerios earlier in the day.
Okay, fine. She doesn't have to eat. (Medium, as it turned out, was happy to eat all of Small's food, which she hadn't even touched.)
Small now insisted that she needed a bowl too, so Hubby liberated our stainless steel bowls from the drawer under the oven. I went up to check on Large Fry and switched out her bowls. Large was sound asleep.
I ate dinner and went out to CVS to pick up prescriptions.
* * *
Hubby was tucking the twins in when I got home.
When he came downstairs, he told me that Small was very put out that she couldn't stay up and watch Tinker Bell and the Great Fairy Rescue.
We ended up watching several episodes of How I Met Your Mother...and then Large Fry came downstairs about 9:45 or so.
And proceeded to still be ill for the next three hours.
Okay then. Obviously she wasn't going to school tomorrow.
Since Hubby can operate on less sleep than I can, and since he handles puking children better than I can, and since it looked like I was going to have two sick kids home from school the next day, and since I have a medical procedure scheduled for Thursday afternoon that I really don't want to have to reschedule, and since he really handles puking better than I do, it was decided that he would stay downstairs with Large Fry and I would go up to bed and hopefully get some rest, be ready for tomorrow, and hopefully not get whatever the kids have.
Then I remembered that I needed to tell Dad what Hubby's response to the Benghazi comment was, and I texted him back: "Hubby says he feels a blood clot coming on."
* * *
I woke up this morning with Small Fry in bed with me.
Dad responded to my text by saying he sure hoped Hubby didn't go home with Bill.
When we got up to come downstairs—Large Fry had made it through the rest of the night unscathed and now was wanting Cheerios, and Hubby told her she'd have to wait for me—Small Fry made it as far as the foyer on the living room level (seven steps down from the bedroom level) before she puked.
Medium Fry had a crying jag because she had to go to school alone.
* * *
Large Fry is clearly feeling better and has kept down diluted juice and Cheerios all day.
Small Fry was crying that she was thirsty and wanted juice...each time within minutes of throwing up.
Large Fry went to refill her juice in the kitchen around 11:30.
She took a suspiciously long time, so I called out to her. "Where are you?"
"In the kitchen."
"What are you doing?"
No answer.
That's never a good sign. "Large, what are you doing?" I got up and went to check.
She met me in the entryway to the den. With chocolate on her lips, her breath, and her nightgown.
"Did you have chocolate?!?"
Large slowly nodded.
"Where did you get chocolate?"
She led me back into the kitchen, and indicated a bag of leftover Hershey's Baking Melts, which had somehow fallen onto the floor—maybe...they were suspiciously unmelted, and we have radiant heat in our floors, which tends to melt things like chocolate—and didn't stay in the baking goodies bin when it got put back in the pantry. Or she'd scaled the pantry shelves.
"How many did you have?" I demanded.
She held up her index finger.
"You can't have chocolate! You're sick!"
*facepalm*
* * *
Yeeeeeep, it's been one of those days.
Someday, you'll all look back at this and laugh. Not soon. Actually, way off in the future. Like after the youngest of them has her first kid. Until then, I suggest repressing the memory.
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