Bleach. I Need Bleach.

I am known among my family as the one with  a sensitive stomach.  I gag when I open bottles that have been left on the counter a day too long and I trash (gasp!) reusable containers that have been sitting in my car for a week.  I am totally THAT person.

You can imagine, then, that when Joey was hit with an awful stomach bug last fall, it was tough for me.  I mean, it was tougher for him, but I struggled too.  I called my mom in delight the when he puked on me (several times) and I didn’t puke on him back.  I was that impressed with my mommyness.  I still kind of am.

So you know what’s worse than one pukey kid?  Two pukey kids.  Ugh.

I have no idea where they got this bug and therefore have nowhere to direct my rage (which is obviously the mature way to handle such issues).  Instead, I have been bombarding Twitter and my Instagram feed with hourly updates to what I am lovingly referring to at home as “the situation”.

The husband is staying home this morning so I can run in to work to get a few things done and then I’ll be back home with my sickies.  I intend to spend the afternoon washing our linens in the hottest of hot water.  I never use bleach on our clothes, but I think it may be called for in this situation – we cannot risk reinfection.  There’s already been more than enough gross around here.

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