I hate this last week's guts. Literally.
It started out positive enough. We hatched a plan to travel to Williamsburg to stay at my in-laws' time-share that they are unable to use this year. A fun and cheap vacation since we could pack up the contents of our fridge as well as our closets. We arrived without incident and spent one day relaxing, swimming in the pool, etc. and the next touring about. Maggie wanted to climb ladders on ships so we headed to Jamestown (cue photos)
and celebrated escape from those oppressive Brits.
|Looking at YOU, Lizzi!|
Then rode a ferry
and even ate out. I ordered this quite astonishing fried meal and ate about 1/4 of it (all of the fried okra--because who doesn't love fried okra?).
Definite thankfulness here.
But during the during of all this, I received a solid one-two to the gut with two emails from someone I trusted. I voluntarily showed my underbelly and received punches in return. I was good and winded, let me tell you. But I'll find some thankful. A good life lesson: you cannot expect more than a person is willing to give. You may be willing to give more, and it may be heartbreaking to find the other person is not willing to give the same, but there's nothing to be done about that. It's too bad that's a lesson that doesn't stick. You relearn it in every instance. A little self-pity? Perhaps.
Robin Williams' death. It is clear I am not alone in being surprised by the impact a celebrity's death had on me. And I don't need to go into the reasons because they're the same as everyone else's: we all knew he struggled with depression, his career spanned my life so his movies had an impact on my formative years, the recent disclosure he'd been diagnosed with Parkinson's. His death was a heartbreaking shock, but what some people have written about it makes me sick. Literally (the most recent, bogus definition). People who have no expertise or experience with mental illness feel compelled to sit in judgement instead of exercising compassion. But, some really wonderful stuff has been written, too, and for one example, please turn to one of my cohosts, Sandy.
The horror of what happened in Ferguson, Missouri. The stark reminder that racial stereotyping and prejudice is real and still exists and results in terrible brutality. A reality, as a white middle-class female, I very rarely have to face. Here's a great article about it with links.
And then, the vomit began. Literally.
It started with poor Leo on Wednesday night, and the amount was truly astonishing from such a small person. We bagged up two enormous garbage bags of linens for the resort's laundry facility. You might think it's better than at home. I don't know. At home and at a timeshare, you have to do the mopping and scrubbing and remaking of beds yourself, but at a timeshare, you don't have access to any of the materials or equipment. You have to call the office and wait for delivery before you get to do it yourself. Over and over. All the while your tiny boy is absolutely miserable, can't seem to stop vomiting long enough to sleep, and is clearly confused as to what he has done to deserve this terrible punishment.
|Thankful: sweet photo|
That said, he did eventually fall asleep (perpendicular, with me hanging off the bed), and I got my excuse to skip to Busch Gardens and watch a Cary Grant marathon on TCM. See how I turned that frown upside down?
My own stomach bug didn't start until midway home that night (oh, yes, we had to pull over). And Brian's started the next morning. You know what's worse than having a stomach bug? Having to take care of two small, dependent, perfectly well children when you have a stomach bug. Oh, how I wished for my mama because she would have come to get them!
As it was, Brian and I crawled up and down the stairs (literally) when we heard yelling in order to start another movie or prepare food while trying to keep our own bile from rising. We fell into our bed as often as possible (being careful not to touch because it hurt too much).
When we finally got our two whiners into bed for the night (at an obscenely early hour), and settled their whining (no doubt from neglect), the last thing we said to each other was, "If only we can get a full night's sleep. Then we'll feel better."
Maggie started wailing at 1:00 am when the bug hit her. I laid with her in bed with her on old towels until 6:00, dozing between bouts of vomiting and towel changing. You know what's worse than having a stomach bug? Having to take care of a small, dependent child who cannot seem to aim for the bowl. At 6:00, I took her to bed with me and let Brian take morning duty with Leo.
So, how I can turn this horrendous story into thankfulness? We have no more family members to catch it. And it only took three days to sweep through. And, I think everyone has finished spewing. Maggie has managed to finish half a cup of Gatorade will no ill effects, and I am actually starting to feel hunger pangs.
And, I guess I got a headstart on my diet.
How about you? Can you find any thankfulness in your lessons for the week?
A Fly on our (Chicken Coop) Wall, Amycake and the Dude, Considerings, Finding Ninee, Getting Literal, I Want Backsies, Mother of Imperfection, Rewritten, Thankful Me, The Wakefield Doctrine
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