Every 15 Years is Just Too Often...

Hey, guess what?

We've been sick.

Last week, Skillet got a stomach bug.  Bless.  There's simply nothing like a stomach bug to slow down an overly active little boy.

But slow him down it did.

First, let's back up and say, NANA WAS HERE.

The capital letters do not at all do the excitement in that statement justice.  She hasn't been here since July for Rhys' birthday.  That was way long.  

Made longer by marching season and my band widow-ness.

Check these cuties out.  Reading, "A Bad Case of Stripes," which is wonderful.  I'd never heard of it before AK read it in her class.  I asked her to check it out at the library so we could read it together.  And it was delightful.  

Thankfully, Nana was here several days without any illness.  But on Wednesday, Rhys came home from preschool complaining of a tummy ache.  The rest of the afternoon and night were a blur of him crying about his tummy and changing diapers.  

We all braced for a long night.  And Rhys delivered.

He woke me up at 1:00 am for some milk.  Then came to get me at 1:15 am to take his milk cup from him.  He opted to sleep on the couch, which is not unusual for him.  I went in to check on his around 1:45 am just to make sure he was asleep.  And he was.

Mom got up around 3 am and found Rhys awake on the couch.  She took him back to his bed but he started crying so she took him to her room.  And gave him her bed while she slept on the floor.

She's a saint.

How precious is he?  He looked so tiny in that bed.  

He slept in until 8:15 am.  After AK and I left for her school field trip to the farm.  Nana stayed home to take care of Rhys.  And she did two loads of laundry.  Because, she's a saint.

Aubrey Kate and I had a wonderful time at the farm.  It's a working farm, albeit much smaller than it once was.  She got to see the sheep and chickens and covered wagon.  Even how they washed clothes and that each member of the family only had three outfits.

Yes, she was a little concerned about only having three outfits.

Meanwhile, I was thinking, "OH HOW LOVELY WOULD THAT BE!"

Not for me, of course.  For the children.  They need fewer choices.  Sweet mercy.

Betcha can't pick her out of the line, can you?  

Kidding.  

Anyway, after the farm, we went to nearby downtown Grapevine for a girls' lunch date and shopping.

AK got mac n'cheese, a fruit cup and a pumpkin cookie.  All for the low, low price of thirty million dollars.  Thankfully, the leftovers created two additional meals.  Making it almost extravagant.  Instead of just plain ridiculous.

We stopped in several shops and just dreamed.  My daughter mostly dreams about buying gifts for everyone she knows.  If it were up to her, we would have loaded up our arms with gifts for all our family, friends and even a few people we might not like.  

Gifts.  It's her love language.

After we came home, I realized Rhys had given me a generous gift.  His stomach bug.  

Good times.

Friday, we survived the torrential rain and managed to get kids to and from school and drink some hot chocolate.  

Saturday, Nana had to go home.  I'm not sure why.  I'd just as soon she move out here permanently.  But, dagnabit, I drove her to that airport like a good daughter.  

All day Saturday, I felt like there was something stuck in my throat.

The back story to that is, I actually got a pizza of a Totino's pizza crust lodged in my throat as a child.  We ended up in the ER, where the doctor sprayed some numbing stuff down my throat and dislodged the annoying piece of crust.  

So the trauma (sarcasm font) of that event has stayed with me.  

I ate bread and gummy things and drank a whole lot fluid.  But nothing seemed to budge that darn piece of whatever stuck in my throat.

Until the next morning, when I woke up with razor blades in my throat and a fever.

My experience with strep throat is relatively limited.  I've only had it twice in my life.  

First, when I was nine.  Fourth grade.  This was the illness that revealed to my mom my low body temperature.  

On a normal day, my temp is 97.7.  That's a full degree lower than the average.  

Also, I was born without wisdom teeth.  So, clearly, I'm more evolved.

So when I got sick as a nine year old babe, and I complained about how I felt, mom would take my temperature and pronounce me FINE thanks to that lower than average body temperature.  Eventually, she must have tired of my complaining and took me to the doctor.  Who promptly confirmed strep throat.

She felt bad.  

No really.  She still feels bad.

Saints take these kinds of things really hard.

The next time strep throat came calling was on my honeymoon.

Seriously.

We went to a cabin in Gatlinburg, TN.  It was on the side of a mountain.  And that mountain was snowy.  And I almost died of fear as we drove along the side of that snowy, icy mountain getting to that darn cabin.

Once there, I managed to slip on the icy stoop and landed smack on my back.

If you're envisioning the thieves on "Home Alone," you'd be totally on point.

So my whole body hurt.  Like, really, really hurt.

The next day, my throat also really, really hurt.  But I was on my honeymoon and refused to acknowledge it.  

That denial only lasted a couple of days before we sought out a doctor.  Who confirmed I had strep throat.

I was 24.

So here we are.  15 years later.  And strep throat shows up exactly on time.  

Apparently, one of the little girls in AK's class had strep throat and gave it to me.  How AK has managed not to get it is a huge miracle.

Sunday, when I woke up with razor blades in my throat, Chris checked me in to the doc-in-a-box and sent me on my way.  

The doctor's words, "Oh, Sweetheart, you've got strep throat."

Yes.  I'm aware.

I believe we're all on the mend at this point.  No more stomach bug and the antibiotics are doing their job for me.  

Although, can we talk about how much this strep throat thing feels like the flu?  Maybe that's because I'm now 39 with this junk instead of 9 or 24.  But the fatigue and body aches are just hanging around. So annoying.  

And I am not at all looking forward to what this will feel like at 54.  

But I can assure you, fifteen years to have this again is just too soon.  

Too.  Soon.