How We Spent Our Spring Break

Well, our Spring Break is over.  It’s SO over, no one even cares any more about what shook down that week.  It’s yesterday’s news, and the number one rule of journalism is that nobody wants to read yesterday’s news.

Oh, I kid, people.  I have no idea what the number one rule of journalism is, because I could never shorten my essays into short, succinct, to-the-point-in-not-very-many-words paragraphs, so I will never be hired by a newspaper.

Anyway.

Our Spring Break was a much anticipated week, as we marked days off on our calendar and said things like, “Only five more days before Spring Break hits!”  And then we’d kind of dance a little, untamed jig around the kitchen, because NO SCHOOL FOR NINE DAYS IN A ROW.  It’s like the March jackpot, and our jackpot included some plans of skipping town with good friends.

And then Thing 2 woke up at 2:30 Monday morning… mere hours before we were to leave… and threw up all over his bedroom floor.  He chased that with more puke, and WELCOME, MONDAY MORNING OF SPRING BREAK.  We self-medicated with sippy cups of Sprite and cartoon marathons on Netflix, and I sadly informed our friends, “We will be staying home to puke and Clorox.”

Thing 2 was sick with the stomach bug for two full days.

And then the boy took his turn.  He went to dinner with Mam and Pa at a posh restaurant that uses linen napkins and stemmed water glasses and has a daily special and no playland.  He was fine when he left.  He was so fine, he was plotting and planning a steak for dinner.

He texted me from the restaurant’s bathroom thirty-five minutes after he left and said, “Mom, I’m sick.”

Which is why Hubs flew across town to fetch our firstborn and bring him home, to his bed and his toilet.  The boy spent two full days puking and sipping Sprite and sleeping and watching old episodes of Arrested Development on his phone.

I Cloroxed some more, until the skin on my hands turned to scales and raw meat.

Then… as if two weren’t enough… Hubs came home from work early one afternoon, at the end of our Spring Break week.  Boom!  He had fallen victim to the plague, and HE spent two full days throwing up and insisting that his stomach was simply too unhealthy to tolerate Sprite, and could I just be a lovely wife and uncap a soda to let the carbonation out, because flat soda was the only thing that he COULD POSSIBLY tolerate.

More Clorox.

And then, people, it was suddenly Sunday, and we went back to setting alarms for Monday morning.  I had to make lunches and let the boy know that his plaid golf shorts weren’t really going to match the striped polo shirt he’d chosen, and I had to tell Thing 2 that NO, he actually COULD NOT eat an entire chocolate Easter bunny for breakfast on a non-Easter morning.

In other words, our Spring Break was nothing but a blur of every member of the male tribe in this house throwing up, over and over and over, and needing wet cloths for their heads and cold drinks and power cords for iPads because Netflix won’t run well on 11% batteries.

Anyway.

On Saturday, while Hubs was still suffering with the stomach bug, the boys were both well enough to be going stir-crazy in our house.  They hadn’t been outside in days.

DAYS.

And neither had I.

That’s when the boy discovered a box of cake mix and a tub of frosting in our pantry.  It didn’t take ANY convincing to get Thing 2 on board with making cupcakes, so that’s what they did on Saturday morning.  The Betty Crockers went to town.

IMG_9035 IMG_9036 IMG_9040 IMG_9041 IMG_9044 IMG_9046 IMG_9047 IMG_9050 IMG_9051 IMG_9052 IMG_9054 IMG_9056 IMG_9068 IMG_9072 IMG_9074 IMG_9075 IMG_9078 IMG_9082 IMG_9084 IMG_9085 IMG_9093And then I said YES to a sugary breakfast that morning.

I think they both ate four or five cupcakes… each… for breakfast.  I figured that it was fine, considering that they’d both gone a few days without eating anything, as they threw up like frat boys.

And that, people, is about all I’ve got for you tonight.  Take care and stay well.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *