The Plague of 2013

On Saturday night, Elena complained that her tummy hurt. At 3:30 am, I heard her crying and went in to check on her. She rolled over and puked on me.

Later that morning when Marcus woke up, we realized that he had thrown up in his bed, yet never made a peep. Great, I thought, now we have two sick kids. Karen and I took turns watching them and things were fairly uneventful until she called me in the mid-afternoon (I was outside). Our conversation went something like this:
Me: Hey.
Karen: I nee.....insiii...
Me: Huh?
Karen: Click.

I came in the house to see her bracing herself against the counter and clutching her stomach. Victim number three.

I took over child care while she purged. The kids were starting to feel better, so I was able to take them outside. Bath time rolled around, so I set up Marcus' bath in the utility room sink as usual. While I was undressing him, I noticed that my head hurt a little. I had him in the bathtub for about 30 seconds before I realized that I was going to throw up. I yanked him out of the tub and ran yelling for Karen, all the while leaving a watery trail behind us.

Karen met me in front of the spare bathroom and I half-threw Marcus to her and headed in. As I was throwing up, Sprout came into the bathroom and said, "Daddy, this my potty! This is not your potty! Go fo-up in YOUR potty!! Fo-up in your potty now!"

By Monday morning we were all doing a little bit better. I decided to make a gigantic pot of homemade chicken noodle soup. This task took over two hours to complete because I had to lay down and rest several times. Once it was complete, I had a small bowl and Sprout ate a few bites. Karen cleaned up the kitchen and put the soup in the fridge. Well, almost. She dropped the bowl and spilled the entire soup in the fridge. Neither one of us felt like cleaning it up, so we let the dogs do most of the heavy lifting.