Thanks to my mom and my birthday, we have a bag of chocolate chips the size of your bedroom pillow sitting in our kitchen.
Last Wednesday night, Doc Sci and I decided to put those bad boys to good use. I guess if you hate chocolate, then that would mean donating it to sandbagging efforts or propping it up as a door stop. But, we don’t hate chocolate. Nope, not even a little bit.
We whipped up a batch of good ol’ American chocolate chip cookies and ate way too many warm & melty ones. And then we steeled ourselves against the forces of desire and put the rest of the batch in a ziploc bag. Unfortunately, almost all of them are still there to this day.
I tell you – a mean, green, German stomach virus machine happened, that’s what.
While I will spare you most of the details, I would just like to mention that it’s rough to watch your kid go through his first real throw-up experience. I never realized kids were so scared to return their meals to daylight. Wow. And, man, the splatter pattern can be quite impressive. Try grape juice next time – it’ll make it easier to find during clean up.
But.. when you start hurling yourself, that’s when the fun begins. The only thing worse than that is listening to your husband do the same. All. Night. Long.
And, shall we ice the cake while we’re at it? Even worse is when the baby cries in the middle of the night because he’s woken up in a pool of revisited PB&J.
Oh, Lord have mercy.
And, that’s exactly what we prayed. Thank goodness, God answers.
This whole experience got me thinking. What do you do when this happens to you in your comfort zone? You call the doctor. You call a friend to come over and help. Or Grandma comes. Or Auntie. Or whoever. Or you run to CVS in the middle of the night because it’s open and it carries both Pepto Bismol and cans of chicken noodle soup (albeit at prices that you can only afford when you’re THAT desperate).
What do you do in a foreign country where you can name all your close friends on one hand?
Pray, pray, pray.
And then pick a finger, call the friend, and beg for help.
But be nice. I almost called this friend in the middle of the night and asked her to come while all the barfing was still going on. Now, that’s a REAL test of friendship.
Now, for my two Euro-cents..
I recommend going against your doctor’s wishes and scouring the internet for information. I mean, how else would I know that this kind of virus cannot be killed with Lysol?? (And how disappointed I am now that I found something similar to it!)
So bleach your house from top to bottom at the first sign of upchuck (or, you know, the other kind of “stomach” problem).
And become a hand-washing freakazoid. I will now be requiring my son (and myself) to wash hands in hot water with soap to the tune of Happy Birthday (twice) every cotton-pickin’ time we return home from school. Or the library. Or gymnastics. Or anywhere else on God’s green earth. Apparently this stuff even resists Purell. Who knew?!
Now that every sight and smell of food doesn’t leave me running for the hills, I’m ready to try those cookies again. They’re probably crispy but to throw them out would be an even greater tragedy than leaving alone in their plastic isolation unit. Here’s a tip: throw (or gently place, whatever your personal style may be) a piece of bread in with the cookies and in a few hours, voila! Soft baked yummy goodness again.
Oh, chocolate, how I have missed you.