The Man Cold and the Worst Nurse in the World
The day before we left, our bags packed and lined up by the door, my husband felt sick and stumbled into bed.
He didn’t have a fever, he wasn’t throwing up, but in the morning when the little boys ran into our room squealing, “It’s Disneyland TIME!!” he said we couldn’t go, he was just. too. sick.
I wasn’t sure what to do since we had shipped our giant dog and our small baby off to Grandma’s already. At about ten o’ clock I went into my husband’s room, had him take a brief survey, felt his forehead, and dragged him out of bed.
I drove us through LA. I don’t like LA traffic. Also, I hate to say it but LA is one of the ugliest cities. It has it’s beautiful parts, but in general it sprawls along like concrete married asphalt and then threw up.
As cars cut in front of me, I announced to my husband that I was going to start a new trend of polite driving. I cheerfully made room for any and all blinkers and my husband said the movement would die with me and we were going to hit traffic if I didn’t hurry up. Humph.
When we arrived I took the boys swimming and after about five minutes my husband arrived at the pool, feeling much better. We decided to risk going to the happiest place on earth with Derrick and his mystery disease.
We rode Splash Mountain, which is my boys favorite ride. They get very nervous every time, and I know they like it because they feel brave afterward. It’s their dragon, their 3 and 5 year old challenge. If you can ride Splash Mountain, you can do anything. My 3 year old hates to get wet with an undying and fiery hatred so I was nervous to let him ride it at night. Imagine our surprise when he reached the top of the drop and threw his little hands up in the air.
The next morning my husband felt worse. I announced a new Disneyland rule, “if you aren’t puking or feverish, you can take some DayQuil and muscle through it”.
After I had wrestled him onto the Peter Pan ride he announced he needed to go back to the hotel room. I think I may have called him a sissy. The point is, later that night he did have a fever and I felt bad, but I also was very nice and caring once I knew something was actually wrong with him.
Quinten decided to go back to the hotel with him, which I should have seen as a sign, but Disneyland clouds your judgement.
The Mouse House
I just had Sheldon with me, and the whole theme park was at our finger tips. I asked him what he wanted to do and he said, “I want to ring Mickey Mouse’s doorbell.”
So off we went, to ring that rodent’s doorbell. Along the way Shel “flew” because he was wearing a Peter Pan hat and the crowds parted magically for him. Adults would shout, “LOOK! It’s Peter Pan!” and he was thrilled to his toes.
There was a dark side to the Peter Pan hat. When I got it for him I thought it would be perfect but I forgot to factor in how fastidious my 3 year old is about his outfits. That feather. THAT FEATHER! He kept bumping the feather on me, or the wall, or the wind. Then he would have to take the hat off and “fix” his feather, which involved pushing it against the…feather grain?
You know what I mean.
Four hours later we made it to Mickey’s house.
|My friend called this shot “Peter Potter” on Facebook. Also, notice the buttoned collar? Shel refuses to wear his shirts without ALL buttons being buttoned.|
It was the highlight of the trip.
Poison Is For Cowards
The next day, Quinten was sick. He had a fever and I only had chewable Tylenol tablets for children. They were bubble gum flavored. Q decided they were inedible. I made him eat three. A few minutes later, he was throwing up in our hotel room bed.
Q and I sat around in the hotel the whole day. It was boring. I got really good at playing Cut the Rope.
When Derrick got back he noticed that we were in the bed he had previously claimed as his own. “Wait a minute,” he said, wheels turning,”why am I in the barf bed?”
I started to explain that I needed to put our son somewhere while we changed the sheets but he was convinced this was part of my plan to torture him for fun, starting with dragging him off to Disneyland with a cold flu and calling him a big baby and shoveling DayQuil down his throat.
The next morning Q was feeling better and since he only threw up once, Derrick and I determined it was caused by those darn chewable tablets. Derrick went to Target to buy rain ponchos because it was raining. I was completely ready to go home. We had been there for what? Three days? I didn’t even know. Two people had fallen ill, my feet hurt, and now it was raining and Q still had a mild fever. Instead of packing our bags, Derrick decided to solve the fever problem by buying more medicine, this time the drinkable variety. Unfortunately he bought cough syrup.
“If you give him that he’s going to fall asleep on the rides,” I said during our morning telephone conference.
“NO! I don’t want to be asleep! I want to go to Disneyland!” shouted Q.
I got off the phone and calmly announced that Daddy had bought the wrong medicine and we only had chewable tablets. I also announced that there was NO WAY I was going to allow my 5 year old to go to Disneyland with a fever without medicating him first. I mean, bad parent much? I have my standards! So Q could either take the medicine or go home. If he didn’t take the medicine, we were going home. The end.
Q took the medicine. He knew his mother wasn’t messing around.
Derrick called again, “Okay,” he said, “I bought a red drink that has fruit in it and it’s supposed to be good for immunity and it doesn’t have a lot of sugar but I think it will still taste good…”
My husband is very detailed. I started to daydream, vaguely wondering why it was necessary to explain all the finer points of this beverage when his next words jolted me into reality,”…so I was thinking I will crush up those Tylenol tablets and put it in the drink and then have Q drink it…”
“I already gave him his medicine,” I interrupted, “I told him if he didn’t take it he wasn’t going to Disneyland. Poison is for cowards.”
A few minutes later Derrick showed up with four ponchos and two umbrellas. By this time, the rain had stopped, which was lucky for me because the poncho Derrick selected was canary yellow with an image of Mickey Mouse emblazoned on the front.
“Is this revenge for making you sleep in the barf bed and force feeding you DayQuil?” I asked. He claimed it wasn’t, but I’ll leave it for you to decide.
Even though it wasn’t raining the boys still insisted on wearing their ponchos AND holding their umbrellas. Of course. So we walked to the park, ready for hurricane conditions, praying for fun.
As you do.