Twas the night before Church
When all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Not even a mouse
oh crap!
What was that?
I heard something that I imagine is what Hell hounds sound like followed by crying! Nathan threw up! After two rounds of scrubbing down and outfit changes, we were wide awake and miserable. We decided to snuggle up on the couch and watch tv.
Every time the poor kid barfed into a bucket, I cheered and clapped and told him good job! I had to make sure that he knew that the vomiting protocol was to up chuck in a bucket and/or toilet and not on mommy (which Syd seems to believe!) After each ridiculous shower of praise, gave me quite the look. If that kid knew profanity, I am pretty sure he would have made a sailor blush with his thoughts on my "great job, buddy!"
About two hours into our all night Bubble Guppies marathon, my mind started to wander. It thought about every toddler kiss, every bite of his lunch that I couldn't let go to waste, and every boogie and wad of gum that was deposited into my hand. Suddenly I was drowning in sess pool of germs and it was only a matter of time before..... Insert shuddering and sounds of impending doom!
On Sunday I was fine. Monday I was feeling a little off. I was sitting there giving the kids a bath, I kinda started feeling worse. I texted Stephen to give him a heads up and he told me to call him if I need him. About 20 minutes later I called him home. I had started chanting "you are not getting sick" over and over but no one was listening. I WAS SICK! Nathan ran off as soon as I got him out of the tub and was jumping on my bed. I couldn't move fast enough to catch him, so I stood there doing Lamaze breathing to fight off nausea while he was flopping his junk all over my pillow and waited for him to slow down.
The first thing Stephen said when he saw me was "you don't look good" and then he took the kids down stairs. As soon as they were out of sight, I gave up the battle. Let's just say that those healthy cereals that you pretend taste good, well there is NO pretending the second time you taste them. I don't think I have been that sick since I was a kid.
Stephen did an awesome job taking care of the kids and answering all my texts. He brought me ginger ale and crackers and then went to the store to get me Popsicles when I asked. All I could do is lay in bed and not move an inch. That is probably why I felt so achy and sore. By 4:30, I couldn't take it. I had to soak in the tub and relax my muscles. Now, I am not a diva, I swear! But I couldn't get the water hot enough, so while Stephen was feeding the kids dinner, I had him boiling a large pot of water to warm my bath.
By the end of the night I was feeling much better and was happily sleeping away. Some where in my dream, I heard a faint whisper of "Mommy!" But my dream was too good, I didn't want to wake up. The whisper was louder and louder until it was yelling and feet scampering across the floor. The final battle cry and sound of someone puking on my bed, got me up (so long Wiggles, It was fun hanging out with you in my dreams!) Sydney became victim number 3 at 3am. Surprisingly, she was the least sick and after a long nap, she was back to herself.
Stephen had still escaped the plague, so Wednesday morning I sanitized the house. I wiped/sprayed everything in the house. The Lysol was so thick in the air, you could probably cut it with a knife. In fact I think I can still taste it (a week later) after walking through cloud after cloud of spray that day. I wanted us decontaminated because we had plans to visit my niece and nephew that weekend and I did not want to miss it.
Friday night, we had just about everything packed up and ready to go for our trip the next day and Stephen was feeling kinda weird. Just when he thought he was safe, he became victim number 4. And I was the doting wife who took care of him, right? Umm, I asked if he needed anything and then made sure he stayed away from our stuff. Then 7am the next day, I asked if he was okay and needed anything. Then I called out "bye babe, feel better" and I started loading up the kids for our fun weekend. I think I might have told him to make sure he sprayed down the house when he felt better too. Wife of the year, for sure!
Note from the editor (Stephen)
When I am sick, I never want to hear Jamie call it a "Man Cold" again. Ever... then we'll call it even.
Monday, March 17, 2014
Saturday, March 1, 2014
Smokin Hot Banana Tarts
So this was suppose to be for Valentines day, but computer difficulties and mental anguish from so much freaking snow have delayed it. Here is a little something from before Stephen and I were dating. I can't believe that I am sharing this! So much for letting you think that motherhood has made my life this crazy.
What's a girl to do when she has a crush on someone but she is too awkward and shy to make a move. She convinces her parents to get a new computer so he can come over and set it up for them. Stop laughing at me! I know I am such a dork! I wasn't very bold back then! And don't feel bad for my parents! Their computer was ancient and they still have this one so I'd say they got their money's worth!
Anyways, the day he was coming over, I needed to make banana tarts for a Church dinner that night. It was a perfect opportunity to show off those newly acquired pastry chef skills. (Such false advertisement! He gets squat now! I kinda feel guilty about it) He came over and starting working in the family room that is right next to the kitchen. I threw the tart shell into the oven to partially bake and started chatting with Stephen. After a few minutes, I went to check the oven. Oops! For some strange reason, I didn't put the tart pan on a sheet tray. It was one of those pans where the bottom pops out and I heard a drop of butter slip through the crack and onto the bottom of the oven. Well, it can't be that much so it should be fine. CURSE YOU, RESTAURANT SCHOOL PATE SUCREE RECIPE! About 5 minutes later I detect the hint of something burning! I start to open the door and a little bit of smoke comes out! I quickly slam the door and have a silent freak out. Lots of butter melted out and dripped to the bottom of the oven. My mom came in and saw the wild look in my eyes and I explained the situation as quietly as I could. The tart only had a few minutes left and we figured that if we turned the exhaust fan on high, it would be OK! STUPID! STUPID! STUPID! Like 2 minutes later the smoke detectors go off. How freaking embarrassing!! There I was standing on a chair flapping my arms like an idiot to get it to go off.
Now at this point a normal person would call it a day and pick up something on the way to dinner, but not this idiot! I had to keep going! The only problem was that there was all this burnt butter on the bottom of the oven. The oven was still so hot and for whatever reason I couldn't wait. My dad saved the day by volunteering to clean it. He had to wear these huge welding gloves. It was insane! Of course Stephen was so distracted by the chaos that he had to come over to watch. What a way to make an impression!
After everyone got there jokes in, I finished assembling the tart, grabbed a sheet tray because I learned my lesson, right !?! Here is where I would like to say that I redeemed myself and got to chat it up with Stephen, amazed him with my baking skills, and banana tarts are his favorite to this day. But this is me we are talking about! When life hands me a lemon, I gotta go back and get grab enough lemons so the whole world can enjoy some lemonade at my expense. I, being the biggest stupid idiot on the planet, put the darn tart on a sheet with no sides on it! Of course the filling oozed out and rolled straight off the edge and burned like it was it's job. The smoke levels were off the charts. I just had to finish this stupid thing because despite the burning all around it, the tart itself was baking beautifully!
Let's draw a little mental picture here. Laying on the kitchen table are the huge welder gloves. Hanging from the ceiling are detached smoked detectors. You can hear the loud hum of fans were placed at the open front and back doors ( My dad is a super genius problem solver). Unfortunately, they work well but can't keep up because smoke was so thick that I can only make out the fuzzy edges of the outline of the dog. (You think that I am making it up, but I am as serious as a heart attack!) Stephen's eyes are blood shot and burning from all the smoke. I have a case of what I like to call the nervous sweats and I feel like my face is on fire. How did I not die on the spot!
The rest of the details are a little fuzzy, but I know the tart came out fine. And I really can't believe that I was surprised that I couldn't convince him to come to the Church dinner so he could try that tart!
What's a girl to do when she has a crush on someone but she is too awkward and shy to make a move. She convinces her parents to get a new computer so he can come over and set it up for them. Stop laughing at me! I know I am such a dork! I wasn't very bold back then! And don't feel bad for my parents! Their computer was ancient and they still have this one so I'd say they got their money's worth!
Anyways, the day he was coming over, I needed to make banana tarts for a Church dinner that night. It was a perfect opportunity to show off those newly acquired pastry chef skills. (Such false advertisement! He gets squat now! I kinda feel guilty about it) He came over and starting working in the family room that is right next to the kitchen. I threw the tart shell into the oven to partially bake and started chatting with Stephen. After a few minutes, I went to check the oven. Oops! For some strange reason, I didn't put the tart pan on a sheet tray. It was one of those pans where the bottom pops out and I heard a drop of butter slip through the crack and onto the bottom of the oven. Well, it can't be that much so it should be fine. CURSE YOU, RESTAURANT SCHOOL PATE SUCREE RECIPE! About 5 minutes later I detect the hint of something burning! I start to open the door and a little bit of smoke comes out! I quickly slam the door and have a silent freak out. Lots of butter melted out and dripped to the bottom of the oven. My mom came in and saw the wild look in my eyes and I explained the situation as quietly as I could. The tart only had a few minutes left and we figured that if we turned the exhaust fan on high, it would be OK! STUPID! STUPID! STUPID! Like 2 minutes later the smoke detectors go off. How freaking embarrassing!! There I was standing on a chair flapping my arms like an idiot to get it to go off.
Now at this point a normal person would call it a day and pick up something on the way to dinner, but not this idiot! I had to keep going! The only problem was that there was all this burnt butter on the bottom of the oven. The oven was still so hot and for whatever reason I couldn't wait. My dad saved the day by volunteering to clean it. He had to wear these huge welding gloves. It was insane! Of course Stephen was so distracted by the chaos that he had to come over to watch. What a way to make an impression!
After everyone got there jokes in, I finished assembling the tart, grabbed a sheet tray because I learned my lesson, right !?! Here is where I would like to say that I redeemed myself and got to chat it up with Stephen, amazed him with my baking skills, and banana tarts are his favorite to this day. But this is me we are talking about! When life hands me a lemon, I gotta go back and get grab enough lemons so the whole world can enjoy some lemonade at my expense. I, being the biggest stupid idiot on the planet, put the darn tart on a sheet with no sides on it! Of course the filling oozed out and rolled straight off the edge and burned like it was it's job. The smoke levels were off the charts. I just had to finish this stupid thing because despite the burning all around it, the tart itself was baking beautifully!
Let's draw a little mental picture here. Laying on the kitchen table are the huge welder gloves. Hanging from the ceiling are detached smoked detectors. You can hear the loud hum of fans were placed at the open front and back doors ( My dad is a super genius problem solver). Unfortunately, they work well but can't keep up because smoke was so thick that I can only make out the fuzzy edges of the outline of the dog. (You think that I am making it up, but I am as serious as a heart attack!) Stephen's eyes are blood shot and burning from all the smoke. I have a case of what I like to call the nervous sweats and I feel like my face is on fire. How did I not die on the spot!
The rest of the details are a little fuzzy, but I know the tart came out fine. And I really can't believe that I was surprised that I couldn't convince him to come to the Church dinner so he could try that tart!
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