Why is it, that the minute my husband leaves on a business trip, the kids start barfing and all the major appliances blow up? You think I’m kidding, but sadly, no. Every year, he flies to Washington DC to attend a trade-show and every year, our normally serene life becomes a seething cauldron of germs and stress and broken crap. This month, while he was packing, I started to sound like James Earl Jones after a carton of Camel unfiltered cigarettes. “THIS… IS CNNnnnaaaachhhooie! Ahhhhuuuggghhh, NO! NO! THIS. CAN. NOT. BE. HAPPENING.”
“Have you taken any Airborne?”
Yeah. Like Airborne is going to help ward off the demonic forces circling our house. I’m not superstitious, but ever years it’s the same story.
This year, as he pulled out of our driveway and headed to the airport, the kids all started getting stomach cramps. By the time he was on the plane, I was in bed, coughing up a lung–after all, I had two–and the kids were busily clogging the toilet. In the spirit of letting me recuperate, they didn’t bother to inform me about the toilet issue until there was an inch of water on the bathroom floor. There was only an inch because most of it was busily pouring down into the family room, via the ceiling. No problem. I am woman. Here me roar. THIS IS CNN. Hack, cough, pant. Kersnort. I turned off the toilet valve and James Earl Jones hustled my cramping kids to the towel closet. We mopped up the excess water and tossed the towels into the washer, which yes, you guessed it, sprung a leak and flooded the laundry room, which yes, you guessed it, I didn’t discover until the next morning.
After I mopped up the laundry room, I made a pact with the kids not to use the toilet or the laundry room for a week, then fell into bed and slept until the hubby came home. On the bright side, the hubby is back, everything works, we all feel great and… new carpet and linoleum are being installed next week.
Next year, we’re all just going to go with him.