Lucy is sick again. We’re all sick. We’ve never stopped being sick. The preschool is still operational and it needs to be condemned. All children need to be kept inside until spring. Call the government.

She’s had a fever and we think it’s Fifth’s disease – or “Slap Face” because, well, one of her cheeks looks slapped.

She’s been fevered and too miserable to sleep alone, so we brought her into our bed.

Right as we all started to drift off to sleep, in the moonlight of our room, I saw something wet splash up into the air as Lucy sat up – and puked – everywhere.  Nothing was spared. Rob was catching it in his hands, yelling, “A little help!” and I sat there stunned. Paralyzed. But when he shouted my name for the 8th time, I leapt into the bathroom and grabbed a towel.

“Is that my shower towel?” Rob shouted.

“Yes, why?” I shouted back, trying to maneuver the towel under Lucy’s mouth.

“Why didn’t you use your own towel?”

“OH MY GOD ROB IT DOESN’T MATTER, THE CLOSET IS FILLED WITH CLEAN TOWELS!”

Rob and I have a tendency to bicker about irrelevant things in times of crisis. I think it’s our way of bringing “normalcy” to a situation we can’t handle.

After she settled down, we then moved into the next fun phase called “Strip the bed bare and then put it back together again.”

Rob got Lucy cleaned up and in fresh new pajamas, while I grabbed clean sheets and a duvet cover.

“Oh no, we have to put on the duvet cover?” Rob asked, his voice cracking in despair.

“Yes, stay strong. We can do this. Rob, look at me!” I grabbed his face. “We can do this.”

We put the sheets on and then went into the annoyingly laborious task of stuffing a king sized down comforter into a king sized duvet, which is roughly the size of a tarp one could use to cover a single family home.

We tied the corners in place and then proceeded to button it up. But of course, we skipped a button, leaving us to then unbutton and start all over again.

May I remind you, it’s the middle of the night.

We changed our pillowcases, got Lucy settled again with clean towels underneath her and a puke bucket by her head.

It felt like things were going fine for awhile, until Rob leapt out of bed.

“Oh no, what? What’s wrong?” I asked in a low growl so as not to wake the sick beast.

“She’s constantly kicking me, and keeps aggressively resting her heel on my balls. I gotta go sleep on the couch.”

He grabbed his pillow and left. I drifted back to sleep.

It seems like only moments until I embarked on a lucid dream that our heater was on full blast and wouldn’t shut off. I kept messing with the thermostat, but heat hammered in. I felt smothered, suffocated and wanted to desperately get out of my dream. I forced myself to wake and immediately realized that I actually was smothered and suffocating, as Lucy’s fevered body was draped over me, limp like a noodle, while she peacefully slept with her head on my chest.

I lifted her up and pushed her over to her side of the bed. She whimpered. Quietly at first, then grew louder.

“What is it baby, does something hurt?” I whispered.

“Stop! Stop!” she cried.

“Lucy, what? What is it?”

“You’re spilling all the candy! Stop spilling all the candy!”

Oh great, now she’s having candy related night terrors?

It was now 5 AM, the time I usually wake up to do my writing. Had I slept at all? No one knows.

As I went to the bathroom, I could hear her throwing up again, so I pinched it off (thanks kegals!) and ran into my room. Thankfully she made it into the bucket this time. I soothed her, gave her fresh water, checked her temp and put on a pot of coffee. I roused Rob off the couch and encouraged him to sleep on my side of the bed.

Then I sat down at my kitchen island, and wrote this. It’s more my therapy than for your entertainment. But I’ll take either.

I’m quite desperate, so I’ll close now to purchase vats of elderberry and a doTERRA variety pack, so I can spritz it all over my house like holy water. I will also be lighting sage, calling a priest, and meeting with a Chinese medicine man. I will force my family to drink tea that has manure and tree bark in it. I will fly to India and meet with a guru that has one tooth like Liz Gilbert in Eat, Pray Love.

I DON’T CARE. ANYTHING GOES.

I’ll let you know how it all shakes out.