Holi-dazed

When I arrived at my parents place Christmas Eve, I was informed that numerous family members currently or recently had a stomach bug that caused either vomiting, diarrhea, or both.

Nice.

Because I'm not exposed to children that often, I always know that going home for any occasion usually brings with it the high expectation that I will at some point get sick. It's almost expected. Two years ago I came down with a stomach bug the night before Thanksgiving. Yes, the night before. It was horrible. I heaved or hoed every hour on the hour starting at 1am. It was probably my worst Thanksgiving ever.

Of those arriving around the same time I arrived, my aunt was the first to come down with the lovely stomach bug. She got it the day after Christmas. I made it all the way until the 27th before being afflicted. Luckily, I was able to get a little rest before my regular trips to the bathroom began.

I almost vomited once or twice, but it all ended up going out the other end. Day one, I wasn't hungry at all. Day two, I thought I was feeling a little better and decided to have some soup for dinner.

Bad move.

Between 4am and 7am, I made 9 round trips to the throne and back. If the bathroom were awarding frequent flyer miles, I'd have a couple free vouchers.

Day three was filled with limited eating and the beginnings of a cold, but after reading a little on the internet, it looked like Gatorade was one of my better options. Thus, I began my regular ingestion of the yummy strawberry Gatorade. This was probably better than a certain family member's OD on Imodium AD that led to a ER visit after their system became stopped up and bloated.

I was supposed to fly home that night, but due to the crazy weather in Oz, my flight was cancelled. Thus, day four of my sickness came with a newly arrived family member coming down with the latest round of total fun-ness. By the time I left this afternoon, she was already feeling much better than the AM hours. I, still, was barely hungry, and only managed a small bowl of cereal for breakfast and two muffins for lunch. Oh, and a few bottles of Gatorade.

My sister and her husband left the day I was supposed to have left, but my parents talked them into letting their grandson (my nephew) stay with them the New Year's weekend. Somehow he dug out a jump-rope, which my parents tried to show him how to work. OK, most almost-4-year-olds are just not going to have the coordination to jump over a swinging rope. I had them change to just swinging it back and forth instead of over his head, but he was still having trouble getting the timing right. I tried to show him, but the possessiveness that kicks in at that age caused him to have a little fit over it being his. He started swinging the jump rope, and almost nailed my mom. My parents spoil him to death, so, I was the first to take the rope away and tell him not to hit his Nana. He started crying, but, as I told my parents, I didn't mind being the 'evil' one. He screamed for a while, but settle down shortly before I left. I said my good-byes to my parents, my nephew, and my sprawled-out cousin crashed on the family room couch. (Everyone else was about to eat at another family dinner.)

After the customary hug, my mom requested her usual second hug. My little nephew was still slightly mad at me, and only gave me a slight hug around the waist.

I started up the car, carefully exited the driveway, the waved good-bye as I drove away. My cellphone rang after I had just turned the corner. It was my little nephew.

"I love you very, very much, Kara."

My heart melted.

"I love you, too," I said, barely holding back the tears. My mom came on the line and said he really wanted to call and tell me that before I left since he was afraid I'd never come back.

Talk about a cry-fest. Wow. Is this what parents live for? I mean, let's face it, almost all kids are brats at some point or another. I've always wondered what was so powerful that led a lot of people to have more than one, and also never regret having the children they have...even with as much as some of them can whine about things.

Love. Amazing stuff.

Which reminds me, the 5 year sperm bank storage time I paid for is due up soon. I guess I better look at extending it...just in case.