Primo is under some sort of germy black cloud.
Two weeks ago, he had bronchitis.
Last week, he had the flu.
Late last night/early this morning, he came down with a spectacular case of gastroenteritis. In layman's terms, the pukes (and the other end too). At 1 am, my LSH and I found ourselves washing walls and shampooing the carpet, so sick was the kid. I have never seen the likes of it. He managed to avoid hitting his bed, but I had to use a stepstool to clean off the walls of his bedroom, and even then I could barely reach some spots. Luckily -- or unluckily, depending on how you look at it -- he had eaten spinach for dinner, and so it made it a bit easier to see, if not to clean up.
And of course, this morning we had an appointment with the butcher. Now, as those of you who raise livestock know, getting an appointment with a good butcher is only slightly less difficult than getting a papal audience. You wait weeks for your day. If you miss it, you can guarantee that you will be waiting weeks more -- and with deer season starting soon, make that months.
Forget the mother of the year award, yet again. Any points I may have earned with my midnight cleanup job were promptly lost as I left a sick kid to fend for himself for a couple of hours while I hauled sheep.
I am starting to feel as if there is not enough Lysol in the world.