Chris went to Disneyland yesterday. Okay, so not actually Disneyland, but right across the street. He's doing Construction Administration on a project called Walnut Village, which is located pretty much in Disneyland's backyard. He goes down there overnight every other week. I had all these grand plans for my night alone. We always have a girls' movie night when Dad's gone - movies that Dad is happy to miss. So I was going to start the movie early, get the kids in bed as soon as it was over (I was optimistically shooting for 7pm here, but would've been happy with 7:30 or honestly even 8:00), clean up the kitchen, and then fold some laundry while I watched The Office. Then I was going to curl up with a bowl of ice cream and hot fudge sauce, watch whatever else was on TV or else just read a book without any interruptions, and then go to bed early myself.
I got half of all of those things done.
Except the movie. We did make it right to the end credits of Charlotte's Web before Ellie threw up spectacularly all over our new living room floor. How do single parents do it? You need one person to hold the sick child and keep them from contaminating the rest of the house and household and another person to clean it all up. There was just me, and Vicki and Lexi huddling in the farthest corner the could possibly get to, in record time, I might add. They helpfully told me, "Ellie has some in her hair!" and "I think it's in your shoe, Mom" as Ellie, confused about what on earth had just happened to her, tried to climb into my lap, stinky jammies and all. I stripped her and hauled her up to the bathtub, where she gleefully played for half an hour while I mopped up the floor and covered the house with a fine mist of Lysol. Then I had to rinse her off, drain the tub (you know why), fill it back up, and wash her. Throughout all this she was playing and singing - "Charlotte's Pig, la la, Charlotte's Pig" - and showed no signs whatsoever that she had just tossed her cookies. And meanwhile I had to convince Lexi and Vicki that yes, they really did need to go to bed, and no, I couldn't tuck them in or get their flouride pills or get them drinks of water, or, for that matter, touch them, really. I miss my other half.
Thankfully, the upside to this is that Ellie is totally fine today. She never threw up again, although she did wake up twice in the night to go potty. But it was a quarter to nine before I got her washed, dried off, and in bed, and then we had to make one more potty run (of course). So I watched half of The Office while I folded one load of laundry. Then I did the bare minimum in the kitchen and took a shower because I just felt contagious. I didn't get to bed until almost 11:00 and I didn't get my ice cream. I don't know how single parents do it. I do not ever want to find out. I have incredible respect for anyone raising children alone and remaining sane (at least as sane as I am, which isn't necessarily saying much, but still...) And I don't want Chris here just so I have someone else to clean up vomit. I missed having someone to hug me and tell me that it's going to be okay, and even if I end up being up all night long cleaning, bathing, and calming a sick child, the sun will come out tomorrow. I can tell myself that, but he does it so much better. It's the moral support, the companionship, and someone to laugh with about the older girls' reaction to Ellie's explosion.
I'm glad he's coming home tonight. :)