sick kids


There might not be anything worse.

I feel sorry for them, and I feel sorry for myself.

This time it’s Payton, and we’re still in it, so there is no humor in this post for me.

It’s still raw.

Still exposed nerve type of pain.

And I’m still cranky.

Just ask anyone else in the house.


Started Thursday night.

I was at work, came into the house after 6:00pm, and immediately knew something was wrong. Payton had bloodshot, glassy eyes and was lying under a blanket on the couch and was burning up with a fever.

Plus, she had written me this card:



My sister asked me why she wrote that. Was Tom around? Why did the announcement need to come in written form?

Good questions.

Tom WAS around. He took them out to dinner after Faith Formation class, and it hit her in the middle of dinner.

But they were with some friends at dinner, so it may have been a little easy to brush off.

Then they all went to Swirls for frozen yogurt, and Payton politely declined the offer to eat any.

That’s when he knew for sure.

So I guess when they got home and she was waiting for me, she chose to write the card.

The only thing I can say is, good thing she delivered that letter to me when I got home, because  I guess it prepared me for the rest of the night.

I finally got her comfortable enough to fall asleep.  And I went to bed a few hours later.

The first wake up was after I had been asleep for about an hour.  And after that the wake ups came every 30-60 minutes.

Payton coming to tell me she’s going to throw up.

Payton throwing up.

Harper coming to tell me Payton is throwing up in the bucket. And “how disgusting it sounds”.

Payton coming to tell me her tummy hurts.

Payton coming to tell me she’s hot.

She’s cold.

She’s tired but can’t sleep.

She’s wide awake and doesn’t think she can sleep anymore.

Harper coming to tell me she can’t sleep with Payton making all that noise.

Harper crying when she’s told to try anyway.

Harper coming with blankie and stuffed animal to ask to sleep with me.

Harper crying when she’s refused.

Of all things, I wake MYSELF up at 4:15 because I think I hear something. It was nothing. But I guess my body wasn’t used to sleeping for almost 60 minutes, so it triggered me to see if there was anything I could go and discuss with the girls….who were sound asleep.

So I went back to sleep, only to be woken up at 4:30  by Payton who was sick again.

And what did I ever do to deserve such a hostile wake up by the way?

BOTH girls come to my side of the bed (yes, that’s right, they walk right past Tom, who would be closer, to get to me), and they POKE me in the chest! It’s not a soft poke. It’s a jabby, pointy finger, hard, single,  give-it-all-you’ve-got, poke. And it hurts!

I don’t know why they think this is necessary. I’m a very light sleeper to begin with. So even if they just came up and said my name I’d wake right up.  There’s no need for the violent method they have chosen.  But I was too tired with the every 30 minute wake up routine to tell them to please stop poking me. Or I was running to the toilet too fast to hold hair/wipe mouths to think about chastising the wake up method.

It is something we will discuss in the future.

And why are my arms in pain the next morning?

The only thing I can think of, is that my violent awakenings led me to leap out of bed at superhuman speed, and to muster that speed I had to use my arms to spring out of bed as fast as I could. So my arms endured a full 8 hour work out.

Praying for health for all in the very near future….



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