See, I Told you the Disinfectant Was A Good Idea

So I'm back from my life sebatical, finally. I believe I hit a record for longest time without a blog post - 8 days. Let's just say I somehow caught a bad case of the flu and am just now maneuvering myself out of bed.



I won't go into much detail, but I will say this, I had the flu so bad that I even missed my work-out...dun dun dun....I didn't even miss a work out when I was in the hospital after Kaydn Rye was born. (Seriously, I'm not even joking, see Oh yeah, I feel the burn)

Last week was a completely crazed circus with Kaydn Rye's big birthday party, and, um, a few other activities I chose to partake in. I'll leave it at that for now. On Monday, before I ended up like a blob of protoplasma in my bed, I had wonderful intentions of posting all the pictures from the crazy birthday party and of giving Kaydn Rye a nice little cyberspace happy birthday shout-out, but needless to say, that didn't happen. So, I'll get around to that maybe tomorrow.

And about contracting the flu, I will say this: you know how I hate to touch things in public places like, say, at the mall, or a restaurant? Well, for good reason. On Sunday, the day after Kaydn Rye's big party, we attended another birthday party at one of those Chuck E. Cheese type places where there are crazed children running around everywhere and where all the parents look they've just come back from a tour of Afganistan. You know the place? In our neck of the woods it's called Planet Pizza.

Before attending this birthday party, Kaydn Rye had never been to Planet Pizza before, and he thought he had found the stairway to heaven. All he really cared about was the arcade, and he bounced from game to game to game until he ran out of money. He finally found the air hockey table, and he was hooked.

And because I never pass up a good air hockey game, I proceeded to take my position as his worthy opponent. When we first walked into the arcade all I could see were millions of slimy little germs hanging from all the joysticks, buttons, and steering wheels, but I told myself to calm down and to please avoid wiping everything down with paper towels and disinfectant before touching anything. And of course, in an arcade, Kaydn Rye's fear of germs seems to float right out of his brain, so I couldn't blame the paper towels and disinfectant on my OCD child that day.

So when it came time for me grab hold of the air hockey thing-a-ma-bob, I just took a deep breath and embraced my inner germ fighters.

The point of this story? Well, just where in the world do you think I caught the flu from? Was it the handlebars that shoot out the tennis balls that knock over the little clowns, or was it the joystick on that coin flipping game, or was it the thingamabob on the air hockey game? The point is that if everyone would just walk around with paper towels and disinfectant, wiping down every surface before touching, this world would be a better place and I would not have spent a whole week of my life in my bed.

But I will say that I did get in some good reading time during my sebatical. I read the label on the back of the Tylenol bottle, I read the entire PowerAde label and oh, I also took the time to count all the flowers on the ridiculous wall paper border I have yet to remove in my bedroom. By Wednesday I was lucid enough to desire some kind of activity that required brain function, but every time I even attempted at, say, walking downstairs to watch some television, or to sit up and read a book, I felt like I was going to barf, so I spent much of Wednesday pondering the meaning of life, the war on terror, and staring at all the floor fuzzies in the corner of my bedroom. I thought that maybe if I thought about it long and hard enough, I could actually maneuver the swiffer with my mind and clean the floors. Didn't happen.

And on Tuesday afternoon my mother finally came and picked up Kaydn Rye, so I didn't have to worry about him all day either. But Tuesday was a whole other story. I didn't get out of bed all day, so I wasn't able to be constantly pouring food into his little bowls all day, and by the time my mother showed up late in the afternoon, he was quote, "absolutely starving."

My hubby had put some cut up leftover spaghetti in the fridge for me to just warm up for him for lunch, but I couldn't even make it down the stairs let alone warm up dinner, so I kept telling him to just find whatever he wanted in the fridge and eat it. Of course, I recommended that he avoid maybe the bacon or any other uncooked meat he might find. But heck, if he found a block of cheese, go for it.

His response to this?

"Well, mom, you have to put whatever I want to eat in a bowl or else I'll make a mess."

He did survive the day on cereal, apples and whatever else he found along the way, so he is still alive. And he got himself completely dressed by himself, went potty by himself, and even attempted at transforming his transformers by himself. Heck, if all he needs from me is to warm up some spaghetti around lunch time, I think I'll spend my days relaxing at a day spa. I'll make sure to break for lunch.

But despite the fact that he did survive, apparently when he got to my mother's house he ate like a little homeless boy she had picked up on the side of the road. And apparently when she got here, the only trace of spilled food she could find were a couple of rogue rice krispies on the table.

That's my boy.


(Oh, and dude, I cannot believe how long it has been since I have visited everyone's blogs. I have no excuse except for the fact that life has been holding me hostage for about the past month. But I'm working on it.)



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