It Doesn't End Well.

As it turns out that last quote must have been tied to personal revelation somehow.  I was sick this week - sinus cold, icky yucky, my-head-is-going-to-explode sick. It came on Monday night and by Tuesday afternoon I was done for.  John came home early from work and Mr. Mom-ed the entire situation into a controllable lump of do-ability. Except the next day I was still sick and he had to go back to work.

It only took a few hours for the whole house to unravel. Allie and Ammon were also sick and they decided to hold an anti-nap mutany of sorts. It lasted for three days. I spent the days trying to re-ravel the house, but it turned out to be more than I could handle. That's always humbling. On Friday I had no choice, but to pretend I felt better and face my life head on.  I started the morning in a frantic hurry to get ready, take care of the kids, get to the store, make a salad (two actually) and be to a funeral by 11am. Done.  Well, in reality, I didn't finish the salad and left it to John who was working from home that day.  I also left him the carpets to clean because the day before Lucas had SPEWED an interesting mixture of stomach bile and dog food all about the living room while I was making Kylie's lunch. Then he politely came over and motioned that he would like to be excused to go outside.  I scrubbed up the mess and Ammon decided he would like to throw up as well. So I bathed him and scrubbed up that mess too.  Except the whole thing made me very nauseous and I began to dry heave.  I never dry heave while cleaning up puke - weird. And I was still sick, sick, sick so I couldn't bring myself to find a carpet cleaner.

Back to Friday. John made the salad and cleaned the carpet and then left to go on a monster long bike ride with his mom and aunt. I stayed to take care of the kids, get them to the store to buy their dad a birthday present for Saturday, clean the house, finish salad number two and get everything put back together for a Birthday BBQ on John's behalf. Allie decided to mutate into a stinker minker and I finally LOST MY COOL.  Not in a scream and spank kind of way, because I'm not a screamer or a spanker, but in a raise my voice and threaten-anything-that-might-convince-her kind of way.  Nothing worked. She ended up crying and I wanted to cry and then the Relief Society President knocked on the door to return my dish from the funeral.  The window was open. Niiice.  I'm fired. Fired from my new calling - the one that is going to teach me everything I lack and so much more.  Weeeelll I'm not REALLY fired because fortunately for me nobody is perfect and the church promotes forgiveness, but I may very well feel humbled next Sunday.

To shorten things up a bit when everyone started to arrive the house was still in shambles.  I gave up.  We partied outside. I was EXHAUSTED, still sick, unprepared, barely presentable, and feeling like a bad mom. While we were outside I noticed.  Noticed that Lucas was still not feeling well.  How long had it been since he ate last? Why is he still curled up in a ball?  He's still shaking.  Stink.

I had seen this before.  Twice actually. Once when he ate a rock that got lodged in his intestines and we ended up paying for a VERY expensive surgery and once when we switched to some cheapo brand of food and he got gastritis and whatever else. Except I knew it wasn't gastritis and whatever else.  As the party was wrapping up I loaded him up and took him to the Animal ER.  It was a creepy sort of institution in a creepy sort of town with a super creepy sort of doctor who told me some creepy sort of news.  Lucas had in fact eaten something which had lodged quite far into his intestines and the x-ray didn't really show what it was except that its a large mass of something and some of his intestines were all distended and the rest were accordianized and.... lots more stuff.  The staff kept coming and going and bringing me estimates and "giving me time" and all of that while I tried with everything I could muster to keep it together.  I sat on the floor and hugged my puppy and cried. They offered to send him home in a body bag. I told them that was morbid and gross and no thank you.

I brought Lucas home and we put him to bed in the kennel. Saturday morning we woke up and had a little celebration for John's birthday.  Birthday breakfast, presents from the kids and cleaning the rest of the carpets as fast as possible so we wouldn't have to pay for another day.  Lucas laid on the floor and shook.  I was shaking inside too.  It was John's birthday I couldn't make him do it.  But then I couldn't take it anymore - the shaking, the curled up mess of a wonderful, dog that was breaking my heart. I got ready as fast as I could and told John I was leaving with Lucas.  Everyone said their goodbye's.  We were all bawling and I loaded him up again.  I cried the whole way to the vet.  Lucas cried too. It was the first time I have heard him cry.  He was hurting.

He  followed me in as obedient and trusting as always.  I was blubbering and it was a very good thing my husband had called ahead to tell them I was coming because I couldn't get any words out.  The poor receptionist must do this quite regularly because she took care of everything without a word from me except, "oh, he's going to throw up!" And he did.  On the floor, twice. Then he waddled over to me, rubbed his head on my leg and dripped some more gastric goo on my foot. Fitting.

And that was it.  She let me give him one last good snugly hug, he hung his head down and she took him. And I tried to keep from wailing. I tried to keep from wailing all the way home and all through both sessions of general conference.  I am so glad we had conference today. Its a good day to be reminded that trials are a necessary part of life and that they build character. You would think by now I would have a lot more character than I do.