What a LONG weekend we had. And I don't mean that in a good way. On Thursday, I went to pick up Aaron from his class at Community Bible Study only to find him asleep in his teacher's arms.
Not good.
Aaron is fiercely independent and rarely allows for a drive-by-hugging, much less excessive cuddles or more-than-a-split-second holding session that would enable him get comfortable enough to nap.
It's unheard of.
When he refused lunch, I knew something serious was up. So his temp of 102.6 came as no shock to me when I checked it less than an hour later.
Then, Lucas got diarrhea. And, Ashlee puked before she went to bed.
Earlier that afternoon, I suspected what was happening and sent Elizabeth to my Mom's. Good move on my part. I'd venture to say it has now earned me Mom of 2009 status.
You see, everyone who stayed in our home got the stomach virus. Everyone, myself included, except my husband, praise God! We surely needed someone to care for all of us. Lucas continued with the diarrhea and Ashlee just the one round of puking. Then Baby Girl got the pukes and Aaron's fever continued and he had some interesting diapers.
It hit me like a ton of bricks around 2:00am on Saturday morning and I kept NO LIQUID in my body until almost 3:30pm Saturday afternoon.
It was a rough day, y'all. At noon I called my midwife to ask about dehydration and secretly hoped she'd offer me an epidural. The cramping was incessant.
8 hours later, it was all becoming a distant memory. Isn't that amazing? Saturday evening Elizabeth came home (after 3 days at my Mom's house) and by Sunday morning I felt fine. We all did.
Wow, I got a little long-winded on that part. The point in me telling you all of that is to say that I didn't get much time with my oldest girl this weekend. With me toilet hovering and her being on a Mom-imposed ban from our home, I was craving some time with my funny, sweet and thoughtful princess.
So, last night we had a nail party. Just the two of us. We've had them before but this one was super special. We agreed that if I painted Elizabeth's toes, she could paint mine. It started off innocent.
Look at that grin. So stinkin' proud of herself. In all honesty, she did pretty well those first 2 toes. But, it was all downhill from there.
By the time she moved onto my 2nd foot, I was beginning to wonder if it would look better if I just went outside and killed a small animal with my bare feet. But, it wasn't for lack of concentration. Focus was her first name.
After a second coat of polish on each foot, her work was complete. Except for a few "touch ups" where she accidentally got "a little" polish on my skin.
See how she's wiping off my 2nd toe. There, removing that little spot should finish it up nicely. Now, for a side by side.
Please note that the smear of polish you see on Elizabeth's right foot was caused by her overwhelming desire to see the photo I'd just taken of my own foot. Unfortunately, she learned the hard way that wiping your foot across the toe of your client's very wet nail makes a lasting impression. And not in a good way.
45 minutes later my toes were moving into the drying phase. To say that I had a lot of polish on my toes would be like saying that the north pole is balmy. And to be honest, I sure hope that the metaphor (or is that a simile) that I just used made sense and adequately conveyed to you that my toes had a WHOLE LOT OF POLISH on them.
Because they did. Gobs of it. In fact, as I write this post at now-near midnight, I think they may all be dry. She polished them at 8:15pm.
But, despite the bottle of polish she used and despite the amount of polish remover I will have to use tomorrow to "touch up" my feet, it was so worth it.
Spending time with her and allowing her to make my feet look like this week's find on an episode of CSI: was as amazing as finding a $1,000 bill in a pair of jeans you've not worn in 2 years.
See, that simile was meant to show you that it was rare and special. Because $1,000 bills are rare (or maybe even non-existent) and wearing jeans you haven't fit into in 2 years is special.
Unless of course they're your fat jeans, then you'd need the $1,000 to prove to yourself that gaining all that weight was actually a financial investment. Or you could just go buy yourself a lot of chocolate. Whatever you need to do to justify yourself.
My point is, my feet look terrible but my heart is full and that's rare and special no matter who you are.
Not good.
Aaron is fiercely independent and rarely allows for a drive-by-hugging, much less excessive cuddles or more-than-a-split-second holding session that would enable him get comfortable enough to nap.
It's unheard of.
When he refused lunch, I knew something serious was up. So his temp of 102.6 came as no shock to me when I checked it less than an hour later.
Then, Lucas got diarrhea. And, Ashlee puked before she went to bed.
Earlier that afternoon, I suspected what was happening and sent Elizabeth to my Mom's. Good move on my part. I'd venture to say it has now earned me Mom of 2009 status.
You see, everyone who stayed in our home got the stomach virus. Everyone, myself included, except my husband, praise God! We surely needed someone to care for all of us. Lucas continued with the diarrhea and Ashlee just the one round of puking. Then Baby Girl got the pukes and Aaron's fever continued and he had some interesting diapers.
It hit me like a ton of bricks around 2:00am on Saturday morning and I kept NO LIQUID in my body until almost 3:30pm Saturday afternoon.
It was a rough day, y'all. At noon I called my midwife to ask about dehydration and secretly hoped she'd offer me an epidural. The cramping was incessant.
8 hours later, it was all becoming a distant memory. Isn't that amazing? Saturday evening Elizabeth came home (after 3 days at my Mom's house) and by Sunday morning I felt fine. We all did.
Wow, I got a little long-winded on that part. The point in me telling you all of that is to say that I didn't get much time with my oldest girl this weekend. With me toilet hovering and her being on a Mom-imposed ban from our home, I was craving some time with my funny, sweet and thoughtful princess.
So, last night we had a nail party. Just the two of us. We've had them before but this one was super special. We agreed that if I painted Elizabeth's toes, she could paint mine. It started off innocent.
Look at that grin. So stinkin' proud of herself. In all honesty, she did pretty well those first 2 toes. But, it was all downhill from there.
By the time she moved onto my 2nd foot, I was beginning to wonder if it would look better if I just went outside and killed a small animal with my bare feet. But, it wasn't for lack of concentration. Focus was her first name.
After a second coat of polish on each foot, her work was complete. Except for a few "touch ups" where she accidentally got "a little" polish on my skin.
See how she's wiping off my 2nd toe. There, removing that little spot should finish it up nicely. Now, for a side by side.
Please note that the smear of polish you see on Elizabeth's right foot was caused by her overwhelming desire to see the photo I'd just taken of my own foot. Unfortunately, she learned the hard way that wiping your foot across the toe of your client's very wet nail makes a lasting impression. And not in a good way.45 minutes later my toes were moving into the drying phase. To say that I had a lot of polish on my toes would be like saying that the north pole is balmy. And to be honest, I sure hope that the metaphor (or is that a simile) that I just used made sense and adequately conveyed to you that my toes had a WHOLE LOT OF POLISH on them.
Because they did. Gobs of it. In fact, as I write this post at now-near midnight, I think they may all be dry. She polished them at 8:15pm.
But, despite the bottle of polish she used and despite the amount of polish remover I will have to use tomorrow to "touch up" my feet, it was so worth it.
Spending time with her and allowing her to make my feet look like this week's find on an episode of CSI: was as amazing as finding a $1,000 bill in a pair of jeans you've not worn in 2 years.
See, that simile was meant to show you that it was rare and special. Because $1,000 bills are rare (or maybe even non-existent) and wearing jeans you haven't fit into in 2 years is special.
Unless of course they're your fat jeans, then you'd need the $1,000 to prove to yourself that gaining all that weight was actually a financial investment. Or you could just go buy yourself a lot of chocolate. Whatever you need to do to justify yourself.
My point is, my feet look terrible but my heart is full and that's rare and special no matter who you are.
