Thank you for the well wishes and words of affirmation!  I would’ve responded sooner, but, well, we got hit.  “Piper down!  I repeat, a piper is down!”

Right after JJ finally perked up (and his lips turned back to red - it’s scary when they blend in with the face), the Mama and Little A went down.  And oh, did we go down.  Saturday I organized the garage to keep the nausea at bay.  Yes, that’s an odd method, I’m sure, and probably not prescribed by doctors, but if they only knew the peace that weeding through the mountains of small people clothes and camping gear and bulk foods and random (yet incredibly abundant) plastic Home Depot sacks can bring a BO (born organizer), they would probably prescribe less Zanax and rather send us to Old Navy after a weekend sale (shivers down my spine).

Little A, however, did not have such a happy place as the non-functional garage to retreat to.  He took a three hour nap on Saturday morning and then did not slumber again.  Until 10pm.  10 hours.  Awake.  FAR too long.  Especially when he made an “ENH ENH ENH!!!” noise.  For.all.of.it.  Except when he would come close to a water source, where he would increase the level and frequency of the “ENH!!!”s to indicate that he would like water.  Rather, he demanded water like he was a street junkie.  So we’d give it to him (actually, it was a homemade Pedialyte solution) which he would toss back with the cup straight in the air, and then promptly projectile vomit.  Over.  And over.  And over.  It was a delightful weekend.

Sunday morning I could no longer organize.  I couldn’t do laundry (oh, the laundry).  I couldn’t even gather things to put in recycling or even shower.  I can hear the audio tape my folks gave me as a tyke of “Alice in Wonderland”:  “Down, down, down she fell.  Would the fall ever come to an end?”  After little to no sleep, with a Hubby getting ready for a major major major project happening at work the next day and then a business trip later in the week, and Little A still acting like a crack baby, I decided to call in the troops:  “Mama? . . . ”

Fortunately, the Gran already had plans to be in the ‘berg this week seeing as how the Granddaddy is off in the woods with his best childhood bud getting all stinky and unshaven-y and Deet-y.  She figured she could call me every day, or she could come to town and hang out with us.  And, wonderful Gran that she is, she of course agreed to coming down a day early and relieving the Hubby of us fluid-challenged folks so he could gain some semblance of normality so as to reenter the land of the Able-to-Digest.  Blessed, I am so very blessed with help (and comments on my Facebook statuses, my one connection outside of the quarentine zone).

Hubby, of course, got sick on Tuesday.  But we’re not certain it was the Stomach Virus from the Pit or just some expired milk.  And the Gran felt ill, but that could’ve been some overly ripe cantelope.  You just never know . . . Of course, I jumped the gun with food for the Little Man and I too quickly, so it’s only been 24+ hours since the last yarfing, but hey:  that’s a step in the right direction.

It’s so easy to take a simple thing like digestion and retention for granted.  I can get so frustrated when my kids are so active, but seeing JJ wiped out on the couch or Little A like a possessed person makes me so thankful for when they’re not borderline Urgent Care visit.  There are many improvements I think God can make in humans 2.0 (removable body parts - seriously, how much would I *love* to take my ears off between 4 and 5pm every day?  Stinkin’ arsenic hour), but the ability for the brain not to recognize just how much stuff sucks until getting through the other side (i.e. hindsight), that I really dig.  And belly buttons:  they’re just so much fun to poke.

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