All the residents of Stuckland, Stucklonia…Stuckville, ehh forget a cutesy name for it, everybody in my house is sick. Not a runny nose , cough, stuffy head so you can’t rest sick but the other kind, the kind that requires everyone to have a bucket or a toilet. Sigh. Cute little Grandbaby Stuck brought home a stomach virus from her visit the other day. It ran through this house like a super shopper on Black Friday. It has not been pretty.

The girls are troopers, even that tiny little one, they were just miserable in silence. They munched crackers and drank pedialyte and ginger ale respectively, while the boys on the other hand were in the throes of death. They were starving, demanding to be fed and no amount of refusal on my part is acceptable to them. Romeo is adamant ice cream is the answer, he found out the hard way it was not. I sill tremble at the result of the ice cream, I will have nightmares about this. What has been seen cannot be unseen.

Picasso alternated between sleep and complaining. He was exhausted, tired of hearing the others complain, he was a broken shell of a person who needed mommy to do everything but wipe his butt for him. “Wahh I threw up, wahhh my stomach sounds like it is speaking a foreign language, wahh wahh wahh.” Dude, grow a pair, it’s a freaking 24 hr bug and F.Y.I Mama is sick too you big crybaby! Geesh.

One by one they start to emerge from their sickbeds , wan and sweaty. They are feeling better and want sustenance; they don’t want to ease back into solid foods they want to eat the entire contents of the fridge NOW. This will not end well.

I am afraid, very afraid. Where is my bottle of bleach, I am not taking that ride with them again.