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illness

moving, motherhood, being sick, new home. relocating

moving, motherhood, being sick, new home. relocating

I’ve been moving and trying not to die. I’ve disappeared off the face of the earth once again. Seems like I’ve been doing that a lot lately. I told you all awhile back that our house sold and that we were closing on a house. It’s all been a cluster, as everything we ever do always is. Long story short, there were foundation issues. So on to the next house. We found another house, made an offer and closed last Friday. We are ecstatic, except for the fact that I have a tradition that I’d love to quit.

This is so sad but true. Just one more verse to what seems like the longest summer and saddest country song ever. I thought  “and my dog died” was the end. I mean, isn’t that the punch line? But no, there is more. We do everything the hard way around here, apparently.  On the day of closing, I woke up so sick that I, quite seriously, thought I would cry. Mind you, this was after a week of a raging case of the stomach flu.

It felt like I had swallowed razor blades. I had gotten no sleep and the pressure and pain in my head was only second to the unrelenting snot that was blocking every possible air passage that I have. I couldn’t breathe people. Just to add an element of surprise, I began randomly vomiting pure foaming snot. Yes, beautiful visual. Think morning sickness with quadruplets and a tequila hangover. It was not pretty folks.
This is not conducive to moving weekend. Did I mention that the last time we moved, I had to do it in the rain, by myself (my husband was out of town) and in the rain? I did.

Moving is hazardous to my health

This time, thank God, I had a team of moving helpers on Friday (my 3 brothers, my sister-in-law, my mother-in-law and my father-in-law and the Big guy) but we didn’t close until 6 pm on Friday night and by the time we got the truck (because it was the last ruck available in the history of the universe) it was almost 8 pm and pouring rain. The truck had to be back by 9 am. You can guess what happened next? Yes, we moved in the rain (again) into the wee hours of the night.

By this point, I couldn’t breathe and I look like a drowned rat. My eyes were sore; my head was aching. I was sure that I had west Nile, the Ebola virus or the freaking bubonic plague. You all know that I seem to catch the most outrageous diseases; whooping cough, herpangina and scarlet fever…all kids diseases, and I have caught them all as an adult since having children. So, it would be perfectly normal for me to assume that I had caught the plague from one of my carrier children via the elementary school aka cootie central. Damn it.

I just knew I was going to die. There was one point Saturday where I was so dizzy and my fever was so high that I swore I saw Jesus, right there in my living room. I’d assumed he’d come to take me and put me out of my misery. No such luck, it was just the appliance deliveryman. Too bad there was nowhere to deliver the appliances, as the kitchen has to be redone. But they are beautiful and shiny, stainless steel. I just wanted to lie against the appliances to cool down before I had a febrile seizure. But I couldn’t because on Saturday, I had to unload two pallets of wood flooring into the house. Never mind, that I was so sick that I could pass out at any moment and my eyes were rolling back into my head. Who cares if I were hacking and yakking on everything in sight? The house has no flooring right now so that took priority.

Just let me say it, Moving Sucks

I received no sympathy from anyone while moving, until Sunday when I could barely get mobile. Then I was told to stay home (because home is still my in laws because we couldn’t move into a house with no functioning kitchen or floors with small children) but it was said with the definite look of  “you should stay home if you are too much of a pussy to work. No problem, we will all work at YOUR house while you sleep in a plague-induced coma”. So, I did what any self –respecting woman would do, I got up, rubbed some dirt on it and took my daughter to the Nutcracker auditions, then picked up lunch for everyone helping with the moving and worked until I literally couldn’t breathe anymore.

Monday, I woke up determined to go to the doctor, the emergency room, anywhere that could prevent my untimely demise. My plan was to go get meds and then sleep until pick up. No such luck. The Big Guy woke up and said he too was sick. I made him go to the doctor. We’re both sick. He has Strep throat (but you’d think he was dying) and I have acute sinusitis with a side of ear infections because I am special. His comment to me on our half-dead ride home, “Man, you really were sick. I don’t feel like moving, just sleeping.”

“Yeah, me too asshole. All three days that I had to move in the rain while trying not to vomit on myself from the snot in my belly and the excruciating pain in my head.”

Next time we move, he’s paying professionals or doing it himself. It’s too hard on my health. But as soon as these antibiotics kick in, I’m moving into my new old house and finally, after 3 years, we will be a normal family again. The kids are ecstatic.

What’s your worst moving story?

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Sick Daddy Walking.Really does that even exist? Seriously, when I get sick the world keeps on moving on.Asses need wiped, BooBoos kissed, Dinner made. Lunches packed, Laundry folded.Children chauffeured, dressed, bathed, coddled and loved. The show must go on.(PERIOD)

But when the Big Guy, or any man for that matter, is sick,the world comes to a screeching halt.Full on, falls to the ground, assumes the fetal position and can NOT move.Sniffles are sure to be whooping cough. Diarrhea must be cholera or dysentery. A fever, oh shit,he’s pretty sure its the bubonic plague.Vomiting must be fatal food poisoning.No matter the ailment,the end result is the same. They are dying and you must sit by their bedside and nurse their body while stroking their, (ehem) ego!

My husband and I have had the exact same virus, simultaneously and I had to get up and take care of the kids as he whimpered from the other bedroom ( because apparently when he’s sick he needs to be alone in another room to get his rest…really,novel idea. Can I borrow it sometime?I need some sleep too!)”What do you want me to do ( cough ,cough)?You shouldn’t have to do it all by yourself,( cough, sneeze, sniffle..repeat)but if you’re getting up,I think Gabs needs to be wiped!” Commence eye rolling on my part.

Have I told you about the time I had the stomach flu so badly that I vomited for 9 hours straight,every half hour on the half hour? Well, I did and guess what happened on the 9th hour?I finally felt well enough to walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water for my dehydrated self ( it was about midnight)when my then 4 year old walks out of her bedroom, we meet in the hallway, and she proceeds to say “Mommy, I don’t feel so…BLEH>>>>” all over my feet.As I was cleaning her up and trying to clean up the hallway and …my feet, the Big Guy walks out, only to say, “You Ok?” I say yes (yes, in the vomit was not acid like and had not burned off any of my skin or limbs. But not yes as in, I’m OK, life is dandy with vomit on my toes)and try to explain what had happened…to his back as he was headed back to bed.Guess what I got to do that night, after a long day of puking? You guessed it, I got to stay up all night with a sick daughter who kept puking.What did the Big Guy get to do? SLEEP!But if the tables had been flipped, you can bet your ass that I would have had to stay up and hold the barf bucket, wipe vomit off of faces, and soothe all general ill physical pains and emotions.

Just wondering if this happens at your house too? I love my Big Guy but there is something about a man sized baby that makes me want to gouge his eyes out.I just don’t understand why they get to be all baby like and get pampered and stroked and we have to soldier on. I’m not a soldier, nor have I ever been, and I don’t want to soldier on.When I’m sick, I want to receive the same care and attention the Big Guy and the kids expect from me.I want to be allowed the simple luxury of lying around in my jammies, sipping hot tea, while the world soldier’s on without me. For now,( cough, cough, sniff, sniff, and a trifecta of sneezes)I will soldier on!

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back pain

back pain

Back Pain ~This morning was a morning to end all mornings. I woke up, in our apartment in Virginia, where we are residing temporarily until we relocate from our home in the Midwest. The morning was progressing normally until the coffee machine, percolating my much needed fuel for the day, decided to explode. As I was texting my friend, back at home, having a great chit chat I heard a gurgle, followed by a distinct sputter, followed by a pop and a long hiss. I turned around, just in time to see my, much needed, life line turn into an eruption of Mt Saint Dunkin Donuts coffee…all over the pristine white cabinets in the corporate housing that my husband’s new company is paying for.

Back Pain is incapacitating

In true “Mommy can do everything” mode without breaking a sweat, I turned quickly, discarded my phone ,mid text,ran for the laundry room and grabbed a towel to soak up the mess and avert any real damage. I was on it, little did I know that in my haste, I had pulled my back. All that animated mad dashing was not tolerated so well by my not yet fully awake body. To add insult to the back injury, the aforementioned towel that I used to throw on the floor to soak up the eruption, it was fully loaded with sand from our weekend beach trip.

Amidst all the chaos that is unfolding, my 4 and 2 year old are eating breakfast and watching cartoons, looking over at me only briefly, as if to say ” That nutty Mommy, there she goes again.That crazy kid is always into something!” Not until midway through cleaning up the mess did I realize that I had pulled my back. While I was soaking up the mess, I was putting the shrapnel of the morning away. As I half heartily set my large, toffee flavored coffee creamer into the fridge ,atop something or other, it came tumbling back at me and crashing onto the floor, where it oozed its contents all over my newly cleaned floor. To be honest, it was more like it was hurled at me by some unforeseen, Mommy hating entity living within the confines of my refrigerator.

Back Pain is violating

When I tried to clean that mess up, that is when my back began to spasm uncontrollably and I could not regain the upright position. As I inched across the kitchen floor, walking in a position that very closely resembled the evolution of man, whimpering and wincing in pain, I called to my eldest to come to my aid. “Bella, help Mommy! Please get another towel and soak up the creamer.” Her response,”Shua Momma,” I don’t know where or how she does it but sometimes she speaks with a distinct Brooklyn accent.What a little angel, I thought to myself.

I make for the bed and lie down, and try to gently stretch the charlie horse that is in my lower back out, but it is refusing to cooperate. In tears, I roll myself out of bed, after all I am home alone with my 4 and 2 year old. I slowly make my way back to the scene of the crime, the girls are back to eating breakfast. I choke down 3 ibuprofen and realize , I am in a strange place and do not have access to my heating pad and my husband won’t be home for about 8 hours. Oh, the humanity! At this point, I realize I am so far beyond being up a creek without a paddle that I am more closely to being in the ocean without a life preserver.

Back Pain is Humiliating

Up until this point, my girls were behaving pretty well. Then they finished breakfast and realized that I was incapacitated and could not effectively enforce any of my rules;like no running in the house, no writing on each other with marker, no eating snacks like Cheetos and cookies before lunch, no wearing your bathing suits around the house as clothing, no laying every DVD in the house out on the floor as you play hopscotch on them, no yelling every single sentence at the top of your lungs, or no washing your entire body down with the foaming hand soap if you can’t reach the faucet to rinse off. Yes, they realized I could do nothing and they did everything they wanted, and all I could do was watch and cry a little.

I never thought coffee could leave me completely incapacitated and totally dominated and at the mercy of my children. Now that I do, I may have to give it up.That’s a pretty heafty price to pay for a little get up and go! I got no coffee but my morning sure got up and went… straight to hell real fast, taken there by my two ,otherwise, little angels. Lesson learned; apparently when Mommy’s incapacitated (back pain running rampant), there is hell to pay.

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