An exercise in futility

For the past week, I have been cleaning and cleaning and cleaning in anticipation of the visit of my father-in-law and grandmother-in-law. As my husband's paternal grandma is getting older, one of her wishes was to come to Texas to visit her other son. So, my FIL decided to fulfill this wish and drove from Florida to Minnesota and then to Texas over the past week. On Monday, he arrives in North Texas for a two- or three-day visit. The family is really looking forward to it. Of course, we start soccer on Monday evening and have baseball tryouts on Wednesday. Then, on Tuesday, my sister-in-law (who is AoD's sister and Stinkerbelle's godmother) flies into Dallas for a conference for work. So, we're all going to trek to Dallas to have a mini-family reunion to surprise grandma. It will be good.

So, rewind back to this evening. I mopped the bathroom, scrubbed the toilet and tub, washed the bathrugs and made the master bathroom spic and span tonight. So, suffice it to say that Murphy's Law was in effect. Hot Rod started complaining around 1 p.m. of his stomach hurting. We deduced that he hadn't had a BM for a few days and I assumed that was the issue. So, I gave him some Milk of Magnesia after he ate a few bites of spaghetti for lunch. He just couldn't bring himself to eat anything because he felt so crappy. He moaned for the next few hours and finally went to bed with little fuss. Around 11:30, AoD and I climbed into bed (finally) when the bedroom door opens. Hot Rod says he doesn't feel well and then announces he thinks he may need to throw up. So, I shoo him into the bathroom where he proceeded to spew forth undigested spaghetti and MoM all over the wall, the two clean rugs in the floor, down the side of the trash can, on the toilet bowl brush/stand and all over my freshly cleaned toilet. I didn't realize the grody shade of pink that MoM and spaghetti make. The smell is pretty foul, too. So, instead of the wonderful lemon-clean smell in the bathroom, we had the nasty puke smell. So, at midnight, I had to mop, do laundry and scrub all over again. Hot Rod got puke down his legs and feet. So, he went to take a shower. I got him all settled back in upstairs. He announced to me that he did exactly what Happy Feet says to do when you're sick. He was very proud of himself. He looked like he had a bit of his color back and was happily playing and hugging his Mumble Happy Feet stuffed animal as I tucked him back into bed and added a trash can and towel to the bedroom, so he can puke there if he feels the urge again. I never realized the volume a skinny 7-year-old's stomach can hold. That was nasty.

I think I'm sufficiently tired enough to get to sleep now. I will toss the towels and clothes in the dryer and snuggle up in bed. I'm going to knock on wood that no children wake me up.