There was a plan for this week. Monday at 3:30 pm I was to pick-up my wife and oldest son at the airport. There was supposed to be the hugging and kissing and the “hi daddy, I missed you,” and the stories of all the fun and exciting things that happened during the four days they spent in New York City while visiting family. We were going to go home, eat dinner, watch a little TV and go to bed. I was going to sleep late the next morning to make-up for the sleep I missed while staying up with the baby on the days they were gone. After getting up the oldest boy and I were heading down to Charleston to visit my father, his wife and my new six year-old adopted brother. We were going have a family fishing tournament. Afterwards there’d be fried fish and beer.
That’s not what happened.
When I picked them up the first thing my wife says to me is “I have food poisoning”.
“How bad is it?”, I asked.
I found out how bad it was not to long after that. And it was bad. Oh God it was bad. I mean BAD. Worst case of what-the-hell-ever I’ve ever seen. I won’t get into the gruesome details for my wife’s sake, my sake and for the sake of you, the reader, because… I mean… Just… WOW!
So, I still haven’t had any sleep and it’s making me less than pleasant, my wife is terrified to touch the children in case she is suffering from a Norovirus, the fish in Charleston remain unmolested, the kids haven’t been out of the house and therefore are living nightmares to deal with and chaos reigns supreme.