Connecting via the Internet on social networking sites is, no question, all the rage, and, strangely, big business. What is it gives in the ability to quickly connect with strangers masquerading as teenage girls living in Des Moines, it loses in its ability to spread good old fashioned germs. There is just nothing like sharing a water glass or soda, or giving a kiss to an aunt or grandfather to really move the germs around. And, oh, how quickly your network can spread. This is where our story begins.
Sunday before the Monday that was Christmas Eve dawned early at the in-laws house as my middle kid (of three) woke me to let me know that he had diarrhea. There are no words more exciting for a parent than that. The ensuing clean-up is always joyful. Where are those disinfectant wipes? Whose got the bleach spray? Amidst the clean-up, there are the inevitable "what did he eat" questions. Answer: he ate the same thing we all ate. And then, the microscopic waiting. As the symptoms race into place, chills, fever, more frequent, unenjoyable visits to the bathroom, the questions arise? Is it stomach flu? Where are those germs now?
Turns out the answer to the last two questions were a resounding YES and quickly spreading.
Christmas Eve dawned extra early as the three year-old showed up in our room (now back home) at 4:00 A.M. to announce, sadly, that he had thrown-up all over his bed, and, as it turned out, himself, his floor, and the hallway floor leading from his room to ours. Just a general path of the prior day's food with the unmistakable smell of throw-up.
But that wasn't the end of it.
We had planned a Christmas Eve and day trip to an indoor water park in the resort location of Lake Geneva, WI. Fun times to be had by all that would include five people staying in one hotel room, except, well, now the Mrs. was feeling a little hinky. She was holding down her meals of Christmas past (well, really of the day before, the day before Christmas, but that doesn't move much on the page), but she wasn't feeling like a car trip. The decision was made that I would travel with the seven year old (now feeling fine and back to his "regular" self) and the nine year old (girl) who had a little secret she wasn't sharing with us as we packed our swimsuits and flip flops for sunny Wisconsin.
I loaded up the Prius (also feeling a little under the weather after my in-laws' neighbor plowed her minivan into my driver's side door) with food, the big kids (as 7 and 9 are known) and off we drove. During the drive, the nine year old began to hint at the fun that lay ahead.
"Daddy," she said as we crossed the Illinois/Wisconsin state line after two tolls had been deducted from my I-Pass.
"My stomach hurts a little bit," she continued.
"Do you need me to stop or go back?" I asked.
"No, I will be fine," she intoned.
Fine is a relative term. Daylight faded and we approached the hotel. We arrived, unpacked (no working elevator and my confining boot make for a fun time) and then set out to tour the water slide area. We walked in and the first thing that hits you is the fact that it is 90 degrees in there. No lie, they crank the heat, either to give the illusion of summer or Florida or some other trip I didn't spring for on this long, dreary winter break, or, perhaps, they were just trying to melt the fat off the pre-teens running around in last summer's swim trunks. Please, lady, get your fat ass kid to pick a sport other than Xbox. He has love handles that he can fold into each other. But, as they say, I digress, so perhaps a bit further: I get the whole warm vacation when it's cold outside thing. Pressing your bum into a lounge chair and thumbing through a few magazine or the paperback edition of The Da Vinci Code or some such bestseller-type book with big print while sipping on a tropical drink is swell. It really is just ducky. But, and I may be in the minority here, isn't there something so wonderful about a bleak, wind swept upper Midwest winterscape? Trees that stand in silhouette to a nearly always sunless sky speak to me on a visceral level. They frame the past year and prepare me for the coming rebirth that spring and all its greenness will bring. But, I digress, again and now, back to our story.
Turns out, the 9 year old had packed the sickness along for the trip and she was ready to graphically tell me about or unpack, pick your metaphor. As we strolled through the pool area to see the fun that lay ahead, big water slide, nice, lazy river, looks good, hot tub half of which is outdoors in the 30 degree cold, brilliant, my 9 year old says, "Daddy, I have to throw-up."
"Quick," I say, "let's go back to the room."
No such luck. Seconds later, she throws-up on the pool deck. And so, the network spreads.
The 9 year-old spent the next 11 hours in bed soaking up the Sponge Bob X-mas special and more episodes of Hannah Montana than anyone needs. By 10 the next morning, Santa had brought a Christmas miracle, she was fine and she spent two days water sliding. I have the pictures to prove it.
And then the calls came rolling in. A Milwaukee caller reports that my father-in-law has chills, body aches and gave a loving kiss to the porcelain god. Another Wisconsin caller reports that my 15 year-old nephew and 12 year-old niece have both spilled their guts. The network spreads.
By yesterday (12/26), I had a raging headache and began to wonder if it was my turn. I felt a churn in my stomach and feared it was potluck time (when the pot has all the luck and you have none). But, that was not to be. I was fine and the sickness has cleared my house completely. Somehow, I went unscathed. I feel so left out.
Did I mention that I haven't thrown-up since 1987? True story.
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