WARNING! Do not read just before your Thanksgiving meal

The Melchior’s have the stomach flu. Well, the MALE Melchior’s do, and here’s the sordid tale:

At about 12:30 am early Monday morning, Steve started to feel a sense of unease in his stomach. Approximately 2 minutes after waking me to make me aware of his distress, another set of hurried footsteps were heard in the hall – footsteps that weren’t fast enough. Noah, whose room is closest to the bathroom, was so overwhelmed that he threw up in the hall and all over the bathroom floor. This particular turn of events was all Steve needed to ignite his pending issues, and since both could not crowd around the toilet at once, my husband grabbed the trash can.

The first violent dual episode lasted about 7 minutes, after which both Steve and Noah were too sick to do anything but climb back into bed (both in the bed that I happen to sleep in) so I was left to deal with the hall and bathroom.

As I scrubbed without gagging, I was reminded of the amazing constitution that God gave mothers. It’s amazing what we can do, and most of us would have never guessed it before our children were born.

Of course, after the time it took me to clean the walls, the vanity and the floors (not to mention the unlucky pile of clothes Noah had dropped and left outside the shower earlier in the day) I was just in time to witness Round 2. The retching and scrubbing episodes continued until about 5:30 am, at which time I sat down into a chair next to my bed (my side still occupied by my son) and patted his back in hopes that he would sleep.

Noah continued to get sick until 8:30 am, just as Steve began to experience a shivering fever and body aches and I was getting my other children on the school bus. Noah’s fever quickly followed, and at 10:15 am, the school nurse called to say that J.J. wasn’t feeling well. I was far from “public-ready” (the smell alone…) but I jumped in the car quickly in hopes of saving J.J. the embarrassment of school vomit.

To add to our collective pain, Mia’s 9th birthday party was scheduled for Tuesday, so I spent the early evening calling her girlfriends to cancel as I listened to my daughter wail in her bedroom. As I got off the phone, I put a few more dollars in her future therapy fund jar and climbed onto her bed to hug her until the sobbing slowed.

You know, I’m sure our drama would make a great illustration – something like how God never gags as He cleans up our messes (I’m actually not sure how theologically sound that is because He does mention that “spewing out of His mouth” business – Rev. 3:16) or how He never sleeps nor slumbers in our distress or the classic truth that He wraps His arms around His children as they mourn – but frankly, my brain can’t put it all together right now.

Besides, I’m feeling a little uneasy in my stomach.