Overstaying our welcome

 I didn't feel great on Halloween.  I just thought I was tired.  Nap time at my folks house consisted of me shuffling the tots into different bedrooms so that Mini, who was home sick,  could also nap.  Left without a bedroom, I curled up on the basement couch and slept for close to 45 minutes.  I love a nap, but at times I wake up feeling a bit groggy.  I wrote my crappy feeling off as an after-nap zone that I just couldn't shake. 

My folks collect antiques.  Translation: 
tall peeps brace for discomfort sleeping here.

My head was pounding when I woke up crazy early the next morning, but I attributed that to being confined to a full size antique bed with Coach.  The foot board dipped a bit to give our feet room to protrude, but otherwise it was a tight squeeze.  Perhaps I slept a bit stiff and rigid afraid that one wrong move would land one of us on the floor.  We usually sleep in a queen, but oh, how I wish we had a king.  Coach is 6 foot 4.  When I stand up straight, which is rare - I am almost 5 foot 10.  

I ended up with diarrhea.  Coach left for work with a:  'Hopefully it is unrelated to Mini's sickness,' wish.  Ironically this was the day that I had an appointment at my gastroenterologist.  This is the doctor that first diagnosed my celiac disease.  I've been having an issue lately, and after my primary ruled out thyroid or diabetes problems, I decided to check in with this doc.  I hated to miss the appointment, and I was still hopeful that I just had the runs - not the stomach bug from Mini -so I didn't cancel.  My mom knew I didn't feel 100%, but she was hoping I would get some answers from this appointment.  She offered to let me leave the little guy with her while I went to the doctor.

I grabbed a plastic grocery bag on my way out the door.  I thought this was a good plan, but I wasn't feeling incredibly detail oriented.  I didn't stare into the bottom of the bag to check for holes.  Peering into a bag that I was maybe going to throw up into just might have induced vomit, so I failed to peer. 

I got thru the appointment, barely.  Didn't really get any answers.  Later I thought of a few other angles I wanted to discuss with him.  I was too preoccupied with thoughts of 'don't barf in here'.  He handed me a script to get more blood work done to be sure when I eat out, I am not inadvertently eating gluten.  I tired to explain how eating out for us is a rarity, and my issues are more consistent than our restaurant visits.  I don't think he grasped the concept of a not eating out lifestyle.    

The great white.  My ride. 
Yes, it is a former airport shuttle.

On the 15 minute drive back to town where I needed to pick up from preschool, my mouth started to fill with saliva.  Oh, shit.  There wasn't really a good place to pull over, and it just came on so fast.  I reached for the bag - the one I never looked at closely.  I puked my guts out.  Repeatedly.  I managed to stay in my lane and not crash the great white.  After a minute, I felt my lap get warm.  Oops, there were holes in the bottom of the bag.  It had leaked all over my jeans, my awesome winter coat, and the seat of the car.  Perfect.

If you're counting, this is the 2nd time this year I have been in a car with puke.  The other time was inexcusable, but entertaining.

Bird's hands and feet next to a package of
paper towels compliments of Coach's clinic.
No worries, this is as graphic as the photos get.

Before the next round hit, I reached over and grabbed a different grocery bag that happened to hold the Big Bird costume accessories:  hands and feet.  I had just enough time to dump Bird's appendages on the seat, so I could use the bag.  No holes.  

I felt better.  Momentarily.  I drove to Coach's physical therapy clinic which is on the way to the preschool.  I had just enough time for a pit-stop before preschool let out.  I called the clinic, and explained my situation.  Coach came out to the parking lot with towels, water, napkins, and a big garbage bag minus holes.  

So, I sometimes hate Coach's profession because of the long hours he works - particularly in the evenings when I need to drive kids in different directions and haven't been able to clone myself just yet.  I do enjoy the free medical advice about my aches and pains, although I am constantly scolded for failing to perform the back exercises he assigns me.  This vomit clean up service was a huge bonus.  It was a first.  And hopefully the last. 

I got back to our temporary housing situation at my parents' house.  Got the tots to bed.  Puked some more.  And got a text from Eddie.  He needed me to call the school to let him dive himself home.  He didn't feel well.

Another view of antique land.

He and I took turns puking and moaning and napping in an antique bedroom that we converted quickly into a sick ward.  By the next morning, my mom was throwing up.  

Talk about overstaying your welcome.