The Family That Pukes Together Stays Together
Ah, the ties that bind, and oh, the humanity.
Two weeks ago, I told you I would be taking breaks between “Red Pill Heresies” installments as the topic takes a lot out of me.
(If you missed last week’s installment, you can read it here: The Red Pill Heresies: The Feminist Heresy. And here is the first newsletter in the series: The Red Pill Heresies.)
Well, after the week I’ve had, I’m glad I made that decision. This is the first day of feeling physically well for about a week. So, here’s the story of the week my family and I had, and may our miseries amuse you.
Last week about this time, I was feverishly hurrying to complete another “Red Pill Heresies” newsletter while cleaning puke off my nephew’s car seat, refilling juice glasses, topping off coke for the nauseated, and changing diarrhea diapers.
The hymn, “Work for the Night is Coming” was on my mind as I scribbled hastily away on “Heresies.” I knew I was next, and I was determined to have the newsletter done before I, too, had to spend some hours hugging the toilet bowl which I cleaned in advance…in the spirit of things.
Let’s back up a bit.
One of my brothers-in-law, Sam, is in the military. He got some unexpected time off and decided to take the family back home for a visit. He and his wife, Kaylee, welcomed another son into the family last month, and we were all looking forward to meeting him. Soon, he and family will have to uproot to another state for a few months for training. So, he thought, “We’ll go to Jonathon and Amanda’s, everyone can see the new baby, and we can get a little rest in before the next big thing.”
All was well the first couple days of the visit. The new baby is the most beautiful baby and we had loads of fun holding him and visiting with the two-year-old who now goes places at a shocking speed, and sometimes quite silently if the place is somewhere he ought not be. Anyway.
On Tuesday morning, the two-year-old woke up on the wrong side of the bed. That’s what we all thought, that is, until he, without any warning and in the manner of two-year-olds, threw up all over his high chair. Kaylee hoped that he was not, in fact, sick, but that something he ate earlier didn’t agree with him.
The following day, we all sat down around the table to a lunch of some excellent soup I had made. Sam took a couple of bites and then, in ominous tones said, “I don’t feel so good.” He went straight to bed and then he also threw up. Meanwhile, the two-year-old continued to run around like the Tasmanian devil, giving us all hope that he had quickly recovered, only to projectile vomit all over the floor when one least expected it.
After assisting Kaylee with the grim and gruesome task of cleaning puke off the upholstery of the two-year-old’s car seat, she and I retired for the evening, hoping for better things in the morning.
But, alas, it was not to be. I came out of my bedroom the next morning to find Kaylee dangling her exhausted self over a trash can. A few moments later, the inevitable occurred and she was out for the rest of the day as was Sam, both running fevers and feeling downright miserable. The two-year-old finally stopped puking this day and commenced filling his britches about every hour as he entered the next phase of plague. This was dreadful timing for Kaylee, especially, still in postpartum recovery.
Jonathon’s mom, who is a very brave woman, decided to spend the day with us and brought several home remedies along with her which helped wondrously. She kept little baby calm and quiet to give Sam and Kaylee a break. I dashed hither and thither, changing diapers, refilling water bottles, making chicken broth, washing clothes and bedding again…and again…
By the end of this day, I was also sick, but not as sick as everyone else, thankfully. It was so mild, I just thought I was having another of my usual symptom flares. This was not correct as I would soon discover.
The next day Jonathon’s brother, Josiah, his wife, and their baby came over to commiserate with us. (They had already recovered from the same plague earlier in the week.) Sam was feeling much better by this time, as was Kaylee. The two-year-old was still a tad cantankerous but improving. (My stomach, unfortunately, commenced frightful leaps and cramps.) We were all visiting in the living room when Jonathon suddenly excused himself.
Upon my inquiries, I learned that he was now sick. Thankfully, both Jonathon and I got a light case of whatever virus this was and neither of us threw up. We just had all the rest of the symptoms which I will not repeat as I’m sure you’re quite grossed out enough already.
By the time Sunday rolled around and it was time for Sam and Kaylee to pack up and head back home, they felt almost normal, for which we were all grateful. The two-year-old was feeling much better as evidenced by the return of his more cheerful temperament.
Poor Sam. Poor Kaylee. They did get an awful lot of time in bed, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t exactly the rest and relaxation they had in mind.
After they headed back home, I spent the next day and a half in bed with a bad stomach ache and exhaustion.
But now I’m fine!
So, what is the moral of this story? Not sure, exactly.
But, going through crud while behaving yourself and not allowing your circumstances to dictate your emotions, reactions, and words, does have this way of drawing family closer together in mutual love and care. And I think that’s generally what happened this week, and I’m glad of it.
And so, the family that pukes together…stays together. Let that be a lesson to ya.
That’s all for now. Until next time, folks…
P.S. If you enjoy my newsletter, please share it far and wide. I rely on you to grow my little band of readers!
Whatever that plague is, it's going around here also. Some of our church members have succumbed to it. So far, only Miles is the sicky. Hopefully, no one else will get it. Your post was funny.