We got the flu the week of Christmas, and it is one of the most persistent little devils I've ever seen. Some days you feel fine. Then you feel yucky again. Liv and Kate are still not 100 percent, and I am dreaming of just one day without some form of hacking and nastiness.
For the record books, I have cleaned up barf for every member of this household since Christmas, and can rank them from most conscientious and toilet seeking to those that will barf on everything: the Double B and Olivia are true experts and care deeply about Mom's well-being as cleaner-upper. Mariah doesn't really care much. She'll shoot for the bowl provided (no toilet for her!) but no guarantees. I feel Katelyn would if she could, but since she can't she tends to wait for her crib or find the corner of the couch. And then we have K.J. -- the worst offender of them all. For all the pep talks, that kid simply cannot comprehend that it might be better for everybody if he just won't throw up in the middle of his bed, Mom's bed, the floor or the Vatican.
I'm concerned. I can not send him on his mission this way.
All in all, I'm sick of the yuck. It's a good thing Mother's are made of such stern stuff.