Dr. Karina, Medicine Woman

I don't remember watching a lot of Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, although I do remember that it's what I was watching the day the Princess Diana was killed in her fateful car accident.  Right as the good Dr.was about to deliver her own baby against all odds, in the middle of nowhere, the show was interrupted with the tragic news of her death.

What does this have to do with Friday?  Almost nothing.  Although it is interesting how clear that memory still is years later.

I did think of the good doctor more than once on Friday night as a wicked little flu bug making it's way through the Lower Mainland made itself welcome here. I'm certain there's more than one episode (or perhaps all of them??) with the doctor running about with her beauty intact but her sanity and well-being hanging by a thread, but dad-gum she keeps going cause she knows she's making a difference and people need her.

Clearly there is something about a pioneer setting that speaks to the inner recesses of my soul, when I need to call myself to action.  Either that, or I am so out of date in terms of TV shows, all I have going for me are the memories of what I used to watch before I had kids.  Sad to say, it's probably that.

Without going into the details of the absolute insanity and violent expectoration of bodily fluids that began at 10pm and didn't let up with more than a 10 minute break until 5 am, there are a few observations I made in the midst of everything going on here earlier this weekend.

Laugh so you don't cry, is my go-to philosophy when it comes to most of the trivial annoyances that plague the day to day life of being a Mom. Not to say that I don't ever complain,I'm also capable of being a fantastic complainer.  See here or here, for further proof.  Whenever possible though,  I do my best to push towards creating goodness and finding joy.

With that in mind, I give you:

Life Lessons from the Plague of 2012
(note: when embracing the aforementioned philosophy, hyperbole helps)

Watching half asleep kids try and explain to you they've just emptied their stomach contents on their bedroom floor and are about to do the same on your lap if you don't get them to a bathroom, are equal parts annoying and hilarious. Kind of like trying to get a drunk to walk a straight line, I imagine.

Three-year-olds don't know how to be sick. They are either sleeping from sickness-induced exhaustion or bouncing and asking for spaghetti and hot chocolate, even if they've just completely emptied their stomach contents 14 seconds before.  There clearly is no connection between past history and future results to a young child.

Area rugs should be rolled up and put away at the first sign of nausea. You'll thank yourself later, possibly multiple times.

There is something powerful about helping someone else, or in my case,  five someone elses.  Especially when you feel like you can't do it.

Putting your hair up in a bun after not sleeping for an entire night is a good way to get your hair out of your face, but will not make you look at all like Jane Seymour.  Not even a little bit.

Placing a plastic tablecloth over the couch, but under another blanket is a brilliant way to keep a sick three year old comfy without worry about unexpected ejections of bodily fluids from wreaking havoc on your furniture.  I wish I had thought of that 10 years and five flu bugs earlier.

Doing laundry in the middle of the night, when it's done to eradicate the house of every speck of barf and germs flayed upon it feels good.  Crazy good.

Becoming  borderline obsessive-compulsive about wiping doorknobs, faucets and light switches feels perfectly acceptable when my kids are sick.  So I guess that means if I'm not being Dr. Quinn, I am being Gus Portokalos...except instead of Windex I am using Norwex cloths.

While we're on the subject:  Dear Norwex, can you please change your name so it doesn't sound like a dread disease? That would be awesome.

When I am exhausted, over-tired, and spent, nothing makes me feel better than hearing Josh tell me I am rocking my job as Mom. I am so glad he knows me well enough to not say "Oh you poor thing".  To me, pity is crippling, but encouragement and a well-timed -"you can do it!" is all the rally cry I need.  It gives hope and breathes new life into my tired bones!  He's a good man.

Today, we are more well rested and everyone is hopeful that by tonight the barf buckets will be sterilized and put away for a long, long time.  But it's good to know, that even in the midst of chaos, there is joy and  perhaps even a thing or two to be thankful for.

Now where did I put my Norwex cloth?