the Very Bad Thing

I went to the movies last night with some pals, and came home to find Tristan sleeping in a pool of his own vomit, like a tiny frat boy. He's been fussy for days, with teeth sprouting all over the place (you know, in his mouth), and he hasn't been sleeping, which means that I haven't been sleeping, and the MOG has been sleeping, unless you ask HIM. But the puke, that was surprising.  Over and over again. And then the other stuff, which I don't like to talk about. My house smells like the gates of hell.

Being the woman of faith that I am, I sat Brynn and Toby down this morning and had the don't-think-you-can-mosey-to-the-toilet talk, because I know this stuff. They will pass this around like a beach ball, like a filthy bacteria-ridden snot-covered beach ball. And no one will vomit or do anything else in an authorized location, because that's so typical.

So I'm waiting. Tristan's got the worst of it, walking around with a siren-whine that is pitiful and adorable at the same time. R2 is definitely a little under the weather, and Brynn's showing some signs of contracting the plague as well. I'm feeling decidedly, perpetually queasy, but that's probably because I am living in the bowels of the underworld.

The MOG is helping, although his primary contribution is evacuating soiled linens and spraying EXCESSIVE amounts of Febreze on people, as well as in the general vicinity of the Terrible Stink. May God have mercy on our souls.