Smited

I don't know if that is a word. What's the past tense of what happens to you when you haven't gone to church in like, umm...well...ever?

Smited. Smoted. Whatever it was, it just happened to me.

So here's the skinny. I got up this morning and Jack still had a fever, although it had gone down a bit. Chuck was wandering around getting ready, then finally stopped and declared "I think I have what he has" - pointing at Jack. I rolled my eyes and chuckled a bit, then asked if he had a temperature. He said "probably" and I again rolled my eyes and mentally declared him "man-sick". I told him to go on and take his temperature, which he did, and it was 101.7. Oops. Then I felt guilty and then I felt really really sad because he was going to miss Mancation too. Crap, he must really be sick. Then I rolled my eyes again as I watched him fall onto the bed moaning from the aches and pains.

He got under the covers and I put a movie on for Jack while I took Ryker to school. When I returned, Jack was playing quietly in the living (another way you can tell he's sick). His movie had finished and he just decided all on his own to play quietly instead of going and bothering Daddy. Wow. Sickness looks good on him.

We played around in the morning, then I called the clinic on behalf of the whole family. They could get both of them in RIGHT THEN! Chuck left first, then I went to the bathroom quickly before I left with Jack. It overflowed. It wasn't anything worthy of getting stopped up, I promise! I didn't have time to clean it up, so I put towels down and left with Jack.

A few doctors' visits later (and two visits for Jack to the clinic potty in which I prayed that the stopped-up-toilet-syndrome was not following me around town) and we took home two brand-spanking new diagnoses - guesses? I'll give you a hint - it's two words and rhymes with pep boat.

Well done. Chuck got his prescription and then Jack and I went to get his. It wasn't ready, of course, and being that it was six BELOW zero, I made us drive through somewhere and eat lunch in the car. Jack called it a picnic. Medicine finally in hand, we headed home - took the first dose, then got him in bed. Both men sleeping, I put a load of icky-laundry in and tackled the bathroom floor with a bottle of Clorox. Literally on my hands and knees - scrubbing the ground - I made my way across the bathroom. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself at this point.

Then I stood up, having completed my task, and ran my head straight into the corner of an open cabinet door. I whisper-cursed and when it didn't feel better I looked in the mirror to find that I was bleeding from my head.

I have had six concussions, mind you, and never ONCE did I bleed from my head. And as if this post wasn't the epitome of too-much-info - here's another thing - I hadn't had a chance to pump all day (those of you that don't know what that means, don't worry about it), so I was feeling VERY uncomfortable.

Okay, I'll stop the pity party now. But I'll start it up again as I walk up the street to church on Sunday morning.