I bought a can of Lysol today. In retrospect, I should have come home with a case of it. Welcome to my life the last few days.
We’ve had a bug problem in our house for the last week. “Bug” as in flu bug. It started about a week ago, when my daughter came home from school with the usual symptoms of the good-old stomach flu. Truthfully, I thought it might even be food poisoning because it came on so suddenly and only lasted about a day.
End of story?
Nope. A couple days later that bug showed its creepy-crawler eyes and landed a new home somewhere in the lazy river of my intestinal track. I got the bonus visit which lasted more than 24 hours. Now that I think about it, mine came Friday through Sunday, so it must have been the weekend special something.
But it passed. Literally and figuratively.
So here’s the rest of the story. And my reason for Lysol.
The bug showed up again last night. At exactly 11:43pm. I looked at my clock when I was awakened by my teenage son screaming for me in his room. He had a visitor!
I’ve been a parent for almost 21 years. I’ve dealt with plenty of messy situations. I’ve gagged my way through things I could never imagine doing for anyone other than someone I love. But last night took the prize. His room looked like the set of The Exorcist. I’ll spare you the details, but here’s a list of casualties (at least those I have identified):
1. One lampshade
2. New Ipod dock next to his bed (hoping the one year warranty is good!)
3. The insides of his new slippers
4. Pages 56-88 of his Spanish book
5. Bedspread, two blankets, four pillows, bed skirt, bed pad. Not sure if the box spring is salvageable.
6. The light switch on the wall (fortunately I can do simple electrical work).
7. All contents of that drawer in his night stand with all the junk he can’t throw away. Guess what? It’s all thrown away.
But it was stench that caused me to haul myself to the store to buy Lysol. And I have to admit, I’m beginning to wonder if I should have called one of those companies that shows up when you have a flood in the basement to do major cleanup. OK, maybe that’s going overboard. So I’ve been working with the Lysol all day and have to admit, the room is really starting to take on the feeling of a “Spring Waterfall” as the label promises. I’m even thinking about putting on a bathing suit.
They say that every trauma has a silver-lining, right? Well, this one does—for sure (oh, and by the way, add a #8 to the above list —I forgot about the guitar I had to restring). So, here’s the good thing in all of this. My son’s been mad at me for the last couple of days. You know, just normal kid-stuff-because-I’m-the-dad-and-I-embarrassed-him-blah-blah. And, I in return have been ticked at him. And that makes him madder at me, and so on and so on. But, how can you be mad at a moment like the one that started at 11:43? You can’t. You just step in and love. And clean. And wipe. And hold, and rub, and sit, and worry, and stay very close just in case they need you.
You get rid of germs, just like the can says. You get over all the stupid stuff and just move on.