Boychik is grossly sick. Vomit all over the bed sick. He was still up at 4 this morning, throwing up. I finally gave up and put him in bed with me with a bowl. Imagine my disgust when trying to get the bowl to him I dipped my hand into it? It was bad enough that he couldn’t keep down water.
Here it is, less than 12 hours later, he seems to be fine, but we’re still going to see his doctor later this afternoon. As I write this, he’s walking around with a pedia-lyte popsicle and part of a matzoh cracker. He seems to be happy with it. He’s already told me that “dere’s nothing left to frow up, Mommy,” so I’m hopeful.
I’m debating saying “to hell with it” on trying to keep the kids out of the front room with food, especially with Boychik being sick. I’m going to give money to the management company for the house today or tomorrow. I’m really excited about this. House house house house…. And a raised bed area in the back yard that will get the right kind of sunshine (I think?) to grow veggies. G-ds above and below, it should be illegal to be this excited about a stupid rental house!
I guess the big thing is that, to me anyway, a house is stability. An apartment is temporary, and, to my mind, not suitable for kids. Unless it’s something like a townhouse or condo with a yard. We’ve lived in horrible places since being in Cat Box; a couple upstairs apartments. A quad-house with a horrible neighbor sharing the master bedroom wall, a house with a tiny backyard filled with dirt and then landscaping rocks. And now this apartment complex.
Don’t get me wrong – for something that was supposed to be temporary, it’s been grand. But temporary to me is months, not years. We’ve been in this apartment complex too long. So my friend PJ in the office knows that I’m trying to find a house and that I’m going to break the lease to get it. Most of the tax return is going to rent and such till D starts getting his benefits, I get a job, or both.
UPDATE – Miss Scarlett’s sick, too. Antibiotics for her and panda-time for EVERYONE! GRRRRRRRRRRR