I implore you to keep reading. I promise this won’t get gross. And I’ll spare you a picture.

It’s stomach-bug season. That’s sort-of like Passover (I’m no expert, I’m not Jewish), where the Angel of Death moves from house to house, sparing no one. I’ve watched it take down one family after another on Facebook.

I thought I was spared. Child One got it on a Thursday. Child Two got it that Saturday. Hubby got it on the Monday. Wednesday came. Thursday came. Friday came….All clear. This momma is safe!

Then today hit. A whole damn week later – ack!

The stomach bug gets around

One of my mommy Facebook friends likes to tell the following story.

The #RockStarDad in her life was in charge of the baby one evening. Momma was out on the town (or maybe just grocery shopping, I’m paraphrasing here, people.) No Momma = good luck, Daddy. And little sweetness threw up. In her crib. When he went to investigate, the cat followed along to see what the fuss was all about. And then the cat threw up.

The stomach bug likes to bring loved ones together. That’s how it survives. It’s all about sharing and caring (it should have its own Twitter feed). Give Johnny a hug, he needs it. Come here, little girl, the wicked witch wants to give you a lollipop. What’s that, you say? Feeling queasy? Oh, that’s nothing. The fun is about to begin!

If it were just that simple. Give me a good vomit session and be done with it! None of this chills and fever crap. None of this 5-hour queasy ride. Get ‘er done.

Blessed relief

I finally got lucky after 8 hours. And it was bless-ed. I’m off to conquer the world now. Which is why I’m flying high, awake and writing a blog post at midnight. This momma is large and in charge. I will write all the things!

And I have onions to thank. Hubby is the grocery shopper in our house. He ALWAYS buys green onions. Did you know they often come with the root bulb attached? You can plant them and they will rejuvenate? It’s the miracle of marketing that we must. throw. out. plant. and. buy. more.

Since it was winter and I got tired of explaining the miracle of rebirth to him, I found a Mason jar, planted the onions in it and placed it on the windowsill in the kitchen. Voila! A veritable garden, all the green onions you could ever want. Screw the Marketing police! (Editor’s note: I teach Marketing.) We will have our green onions on the cheap, damn it.

Until today. I have cleaned the onion jar dutifully once a week because rotting, I mean, growing onions smell. I noticed this again today when I trudged into the kitchen to pursue the myth of electrolyte-giving Coke. I found a sliced and neglected lemon in the fridge. I dumped all the onions down the garbage disposal. I frowned at my anti-composting feat, but I am willing to say “Uncle.” The stank went down the tank. Along with the lemon to beautify the air, of course.

I did all this in a vague, nauseated state of delirium. And then, praise the Lord: Soon-a will be done-a with de trouble of de worl’. And oh, sweet mercy, I started to gag. Long story short, I made it to the bathroom and managed to keep the nosey minions my small children out of the room for ten minutes.

And with a swish of mouth wash, I rejoined life. Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose. Well, maybe 5 pounds. Can’t beat the workout regime.

Thank you, green onions. I’ll plant you outside next time.

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Photo credit: Pixabay.com