Really, this post should be another Note To Self because I know better.
Paul is in town because one of our high school friends is turning 40. The party was family friendly so I planned on everyone attending. Then the Baby Hulk got sick. He started puking Tuesday night and has puked once a day since then. And yes, we have been going slow on gatorade and dry toast. Lance left the show early yesterday because he felt bad. By the time I left to get Paul at the airport last night, he had puked his guts out. Lance was pretty bummed because I quarantined him to the bedroom with the Hulk and he wouldn't be able to go to the party with us. You know, the surprise party which was the purpose of this short trip for Paul.
Kobra showed a small sign this morning that he might have caught the virus, but I shrugged it off. Maybe not shrugged it off, I did ask Paul if we should leave him home. We decided that he was fine. After driving forty-five minutes and with two minutes to go, Kobra puked all over himself and the carseat. There we were in the driveway cleaning him off, hoping the birthday girl didn't arrive.
I left Paul and Goose at the party and made the trek back into the city while Kobra continued to puke. I got home, Lance took him and washed him off while I attempted to clean the carseat. What fun. Did I mention that it's humid in Houston now? Finally, things were settled at home and I drove back out to the party. Although Lance and Baby Hulk were both feeling better, I felt so bad leaving three sick boys behind. But I had to pick up Paul. Thankfully, the baby slept while we were gone. After sitting in traffic, which made my trip more than an hour, I finally got there and was ready to enjoy myself. I figured I'd visit for a bit, then we'd come home and get ready for our dinner.
Five minutes before we were leaving, Goose told me he didn't feel well. He then proceeded to puke all over me, the leather couch, and oriental rug. It was nonstop vomit. In order to save the beautiful furniture, I tried to "catch" it all in my dress. (I have three dresses from Nordstroms, this was one of them.) There was literally a pool of vomit in my dress. It was so bad, I had to take a shower at the party. As did Goose.
Here is the deal. I barely know the people who hosted the party, as in I just met the wife for the first time today. The husband is the brother of the birthday girl, a high school friend I haven't seen in fifteen years! It was "you're Nikki, right?" These two were so gracious to me and my Goose. I felt so bad for Goose, of course, but I was horrified at the thought of their house being contaminated by our virus and their stuff ruined.
After our shower, our hostess gave us some clothes to wear. Goose couldn't comprehend wearing clothes that were too big and asked for a different pair of shorts. I am not lying. The nerve of that kid, right?
I'm home now and everyone is clean (for the time being). I am trying to spray and wipe down everything again, hoping that I'll get my turn with the virus tomorrow as opposed to during the week and praying oh so hard that Paul doesn't catch our virus and take it with him to Chicago.
You think these people want their clothes back? I am guessing they never want to see or hear from us again!