Last night was insane...

at least the parts I can remember.

If I were a single 20-something year old this story would have a completely different ending, probably a more exciting, one-for-the-journal, or maybe not-for-the-journal ending.

But I am a married 30 year old with 4 kids and my life is full of a different kind of excitement.

It all started with a *drive by Diet Coke-ing and a little texting conversation with a beloved friend, Angie (insert link to Angie's family blog here, or at least I would, but she's private and that would just defeat the purpose.)

Me: Macie has probably thrown up 13 times in the past three hours. 9:01 pm

Me: Make that 15 times... 9:13 pm

Me: Now 17, and Abrie is joining in. It's going to be a long night. 9:40 pm

Me: Pretty sure I've never seen that much throw up come out of one little boy- it was everywhere. Best part is, he was in our bed... on my side. 10:40 pm

Me: Macie, Kaleb, and Abrie... It's called synchronized vomiting. 10:46 pm

Seriously. What are the odds that three of my children would have the flu at the exact same time. It was almost comedic; as I would be racing to help one child, Nate would pass me in the hall rushing another one to the bathroom.

I think if we were to add up the amount of times my kids threw up the number would be well over 50. For reals... not for fake. I don't kid when it comes to vomit.

The fun part was when I was running between Abrie, Kaleb, and Macie trying to help them, I started to feel a little bit queasy. And then, BAM! It hit me (just minus the sound effect).

At least Nate's not sick yet. Right? He can take care of me and the kids and nurse us all back to health. He'll be there to rub my back, do the dishes, and feed me grapes. And maybe, this will end up being like a mini-vacation for me. Maybe me getting the flu was divine intervention.

So I'm laying in my bed when I hear Kaleb throwing up. I turn to Nate eager to use the I'm-sick card when I see Nate stagger out of bed, but instead of rushing to help Kaleb, he ran straight for the bathroom. My visions of grapes and massages quickly disappeared.

It was kind of like that feeling when you reach for the bag of Samoa Girl Scout Cookies to eat that one last cookie you've been saving-- saving for that one special moment where just you and the cookie could be alone together-- but you reach in the bag and find that it's missing. Gone. Stolen. No where to be found. And your heart breaks just a little.

It was like that, but worse.

The rest of the night was pretty much a blur.

I remember a lot of footsteps running to and from the bathroom.

I remember thinking I'd rather natural child birth than the stomach flu... or not.

I remember hearing a lot of throwing up... in surround sound.

The sound echoed through our house and I couldn't help anyone- just myself.

The next morning Abrie was crying to me while I was laying in my bed, "Mom, I yelled a lot for you last night, but you never came. So I came and slept on your floor so you could hear me and when I called for you, you still didn't answer." Poor thing. But I couldn't help it, I was in a flu induced coma.

So we spent the day together laying around being sick. It was such a great bonding experience for all of us-

me, my husband, the children, and the can of Lysol.

P.S. The hypochondriac inside you is feeling sick now, isn't it. Or maybe that's just me.

*Drive by Diet Coke-ing- the act of driving past one's house with favorite beverage in hand, jumping out of the car placing it on the door step, knocking on the door, and then quickly running away as to not receive any germ exposure from the sick and otherwise afflicted.

. . . . .