Lost: one sense of humor

Reward if found.

It has been diarrhea central here, with a little nausea and vomitting thrown in. I have not been hit as hard as others in the family, so once I resurface from the (endless) cycle of washing everyone's soiled linens and bodies every few hours, I'll be back to tell you something funny about the whole thing.

But probably not. It will end probably end up as prominently in the blog files as The Great Winter Vomit-cation of 2009. Remember that one? Of course not. I never told ya'll about it. On RandB it showed up, short and sweet, right here. I must have been feeling especially ironic the day I posted it because apparently I chose "fun in the snow" as the title.

See, they don't give ER residents Christmas off until they are seniors and have sufficiently "earned" it. But if you switch residency programs mid-way through then you get to start at the bottom of the barrel all over again. Anyhoo, vacation time fell in January and since buying tickets to fly anywhere from Colorado in January could end up being a total waste of money, we decided to stay close by and visit Winter Park, a mere two hour drive. Just far enough to feel like we're "getting away from it all," we thought. And with kids ages 1, 2 and 4, it's kind of a gamble anyway: is it more relaxing to travel? Tough call. It seemed safest to split up our time and spend half the week at home and the other half somewhere else.

Early in the week, wouldn't you know that the kids got hit by a stomach bug. We post-poned our departure to the mountains for a few days until they felt better (see? airfare not wasted!), then on Thursday morning we set off and ate a nice lunch at a sandwich place in town. Jeremy took BR to the hotel room to try to get him a nap and I took the girls out to go sledding. It was a gorgeous day, plenty of snow, clear skies...We were loving it. An unsuccessful hour or so later, Jeremy gave up on the nap idea and joined us. Great, we were all together.

We had about 12 minutes of pure fun. (see photos) And then, the vomitting began.

Very quickly we went from having three healthy kids, to just two. By dinnertime, BR couldn't even sit up and lay sprawled on my lap. We headed back to our room extra early and tried to put everyone to bed. But they wouldn't sleep! At about 11pm, A. finally drifted off and I collapsed. She woke up at two hours later to throw up all over the bed she was sharing with L. So now we were down to only one healthy kid. "But at least there's one," we said.

Here's a tip: Never say this. Because the evil diarrhea gods are always lurking close by and they might hear you...

Just then L. woke up and had to be rushed to the loo. I don't remember what happened next; the rest of the night was a bit surreal and also very short because I seem to remember that BR chose 5am as the perfect time to start his day.
I snuck out of the room with him, trying not to wake the others, and we camped out in the lobby of the hotel where we could greet all the early risers who were off to the slopes. I was not feeling the slightest bit sorry for myself. I did not spend those 3 hours trying to come up with something positive about the whole thing.
Well, I didn't have to wash all those linens or clean the bathroom, did I? And maybe I could still get out in the snow for awhile? Sneak away while Jeremy took a shift wiping up after the little sickies, or something... (ER docs are good at that sort of thing, right?)

So then a snowstorm started up. It was piling up quickly and we could see cars starting to slide around a bit outside. Since our little Jetta was not really so good in the snow, and the forecast was calling for more, it was obvious that we really couldn't stick around a minute longer. We packed up, waved goodbye to the Planet Earth's #1 Smelliest Hotel Room Ever, and started driving.

But were we defeated? Was this really to be the end of our wintry getaway? We drove awhile and recovered our resolve to Enjoy Our Vacation At All Costs. We pulled over to the side of the road and parked next to a group of three back-country skiiers who were unloading their gear. We pulled out our toddlers and shoved on their boots and hats because doggone it This Was Vacation. "Sledding! You love sledding! Snow is fun!" we shouted and pulled them up the side of the mountain. BR quit halfway and I tried pushing him up and carrying him, but I kept falling over and he was bawling and I began to think that maybe this was all just a little bit cruel, so we dropped down and sat by while Jer got the girls on the sled. Too steep? You're too scared? No, there's nothing to worry about, you're going to love it! he said, and pushed off.

From where I was, I couldn't tell how steep it really was; I only knew that they were going much faster than seemed right. Instead of slowing down at the bank at the bottom, they actually lifted off and got airborne, flying off the sled and shrieking and screaming (fear--not fun) and then landed in a heap in a snowdrift. The girls were wailing, BR still hadn't stopped his crying and J and I couldn't stop our howling. The skiiers who, up until that point, had been ignoring us, stopped what they were doing to stare. "Uh, I leave my son at home when I come out here," one of them told us. (We'll promise not to have you arrested if you'll do the same, ok?)

So there it is. A little bit of GI trouble is nothing our family hasn't survived before and we seasoned moms are good at thinking positive. At least we still have a washing machine, right? Even though it leaks all over the floor several times each load, it still doesn't even come close to the Great Washer Flood of '08. Heck, I may even eventually get over my trauma and be able to make a good bloggable story out of it one day.

Besides, if things really start to get really bad, we'll just call for backup. Who knows? Maybe if we're really lucky, we'll even get a second decorative wood box out of the deal.