911…please stop calling us.

~ a rather rambling and anticlimactic Part 3 ~

Gideon’s sickness stretched well into Monday, marking the first time he has had a really lengthy stomach virus.

After a completely throw-up free Sunday, he woke up vomiting again at 1:00 a.m. and revisited the bathroom (or the big plastic bowl, a white one this time) three times.

But can I just rejoice for a minute that, even though he was sandwiched between his Papa and me in our master bedroom, he didn’t throw up on our sheets?

Or our quilt, or our pillows, or his pajamas.

Or mine, for that matter!

Glorious day.

Fortunately, Mr. Gore and I have not thrown up…

unfortunately, we have been slightly affected by this virus.

Mr. Gore was able to preach on Sunday morning, but spent the rest of the day with Gideon, eating crackers, drinking Sprite and trying to sleep off his achiness and nausea while Miss Sunday and I retreated to the country for the day, spending some lovely quality time with my parents in a germ-free house.

However, all the cuddling I did with Gideon while the rest of the Christian world was at Sunday morning worship must have caught up with me by Monday, for when I awoke, something was terribly amiss…

the girl who usually somehow rolls out of bed with an english muffin in hand (I love me some breakfast) could not think of one thing I wanted to eat, and the thought of my beloved Dunkin Donuts coffee made my stomach twist and turn.

Which meant, without a doubt, that I was sick.

And so Rebekah was whisked back out to the countryside to spend the day with her Grandmother, Mr. Gore went to his office, and we two hypochondriacs found ourselves shuffling around, sleeping here and there, watching hours of television, and staring at the pantry wishing we could find just one thing to tempt our palates.

Finally at about 1:30 p.m. I came to the following conclusion: we could a) putter about like zombies for the rest of the day, our skin becoming paler by the minute or, b) go do something fun.

So we loaded up in our new minivan (given to us by two very loving church members…another story for another day) and took our quarantine on the road.

We drove by the church and waved at Papa, went train hunting (unsuccessfully), got a Dr. Pepper and a Cherry Limeade at our small town’s Drive-in, and then we pretended to shoot all the town’s animals with Gideon’s camoflauge rifle.

Now keep in mind, we weren’t shooting to kill – we went over that point in great detail, that it is our job to take care of animals – but we had to have some targets; in this case, a stray cat, a coop of chickens, a whole pasture full of horses, three dogs, and a pond full of ducks.

Speaking of that pond, Gideon said “I sure would like to go swimmin’ in there without my swimmin’ pants.” “Like, naked?” I asked. “Yep, like big boys go swimmin’.”

We’ll have to try that adventure some other day, maybe in Granddaddy’s pond, far away from city limits…

But I learned yet another mothering lesson to stick in my file, that when your children are sick alongside you, you’ve just got to peel yourself off of the couch and be the hero.

As much as I wanted to crawl under the covers and be alone, it was so worth it to muster up enough energy to bring a little bit of magic into my little boy’s day, especially when we pulled back up into the driveway and he said “Thank you, Mama, for taking me for a fun drive.”

Since this is my blog, I won’t mention that after learning this great, self-sacrificing truth, I still managed to have a slight breakdown last night after a two-hour bedtime saga.

Never happened, not to Mrs. Gore, nope, no way.

I’ll just go on to say that being home all day with my sick little boy also brought to mind a few more of his stories:

One sad day while driving to Wal-Mart, to his great woe, he “lost his yawn.” I remember so well watching him in his carseat as he tried, over and over again, to get a good yawn out, his exasperation growing with each unsuccessful attempt.

“Where did it go?” he asked me. “I can’t find it! My yawn is lose-d.”

This actually went on for months, until one beautiful day he came running into my room, exclaiming “My yawn came back!!!”

Gideon has a way of pulling you into his drama, and so really, the entire family jumped for joy over this news!

The first time his stomach growled, he started with surprise and lifting up his shirt, said “Did ya hear that?! My belly button’s burpin’!”

He was also completely shocked the first time he realized that real crying (not the rage-throwing fits he was used to that first year of life) brought tears out of his eyes.

He began groping about like a blind man, gasping, “I need a napkin!! There’s water comin’ out of my eyes!!”

And when he was in bed with us Monday morning, sometime between throw-ups, we were encouraging him to stop crying so he wouldn’t wake up his sister.

In my previous post I mentioned that Gideon’s bleeding nose hurt his feelings…apparently, today, his own mouth was compelling him to cry, against his will. “I can’t stop! My mouth wants me to cry!”

I mean, really, if your mouth wants you to cry, how are you going to go about stopping it?…

It is now Tuesday afternoon, the children are napping, the sun is shining through my windows, the smells of Scrubbing Bubbles, Windex, Clorox, Pledge, Pine-Sol and Bleach (if you were wondering before, you know now…we’re not the organic type) are wafting through the house, proclaiming, “Hallelujah, we’re not sick anymore!!” and I feel…at rest.

Sigggghhhhhhh.

If the future is anything like the past 5 months, we have exactly three weeks before the next sickness sweeps through the house.

Until then, God willing, these blog posts will be vomit free, and we at the Gore house will just be dealing with “yucky burps” and hiccups and nosebleeds…you know, the normal stuff.

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