It has been quite a busy week here in the Costa home! And, as always, with the good comes the bad. However, I would like to hope that there was far more good for all involved than bad! Last week, I spent a great deal of time after work planning for Cameron's 7th birthday party, getting ready for my parents arrival, and preparing the sermon and worship for Sunday morning, all the while dealing with that pesky sinus infection that was up in my business for the last month. By Thursday night, I had no voice left. All I kept thinking was "how in the world am I going to yell at a bunch of 7-year-olds for a few hours on Saturday AND still have a voice to preach with??"
Luckily, I spent Friday home from work, trying to get the Z-pack from my doctor (which, by the way, must be the latest street drug, otherwise my doctor wouldn't have given me such a hard time when I asked him for it... the accusations, the disapproving tone, the quizzical looks. Am I missing something, here??). And then we spent Saturday morning getting ready for the birthday party. Cameron, being the creative little buck that he is, asked if we could have a building party for him. After all, he did get a toolbox and a few tools for Christmas, courtesy of my husband, so it seemed like a great idea.... except I don't know anyone who has ever had a building party, I know literally nothing about building, and how does one decorate for this type of theme? Hang hammers instead of balloons and serve food out of metal lunch boxes? My husband decided (AKA I strongly suggested) that he would take an active role in this birthday party. After all, it's only fair, since I did everything for Tay's party just last month. So, he found a design for a "simple" bird house online and convinced me that the supplies would be inexpensive and easy to get. Great, I thought! Inexpensive and easy sound tremendous, given the craziness of this week. And women, this is why we don't ever trust what a man says... because this was neither inexpensive NOR easy. It was a half hour before the party as I sat there watching my father pre-drill holes into the bird houses for the children, saw dust going all over the freshly decorated room.
To my surprise, I survived the party... the constant banging of hammers made it virtually impossible for me to shout above the noise, which coincidentally saved my voice (gave me quite a headache, but at least I could still talk). Cameron loved his construction site birthday cake (thanks to our local bakery.... I seriously don't know how those Martha Stewart mommies out there do it!), and he loved his completed bird house.
By Sunday morning, my Z-pack was really kicking in. After a week of nonstop action, I was finally ready to speak... and I was also pretty excited to be done with all things that needed my immediate attention (well, for at least 15 hours until work on Monday morning). But my evening did not go quite as planned, as evenings of mothers rarely do. The baby engaged in projectle vomiting, which is quite an awesome sight to see, but less than awesome when you're the target. Around 9 pm, I got a bit of a queasy feeling. At 10:30, Taylor woke up barfing her stomach out. By 11:30, I was vomiting so violently that I woke up my parents several rooms away.
It was 15 hours of constant nausea, throwing up, cold sweats, and horrible chills... it reminds me of how my husband once described feeling on the morning of our wedding. The dehydration set in, "accidents" happened (things you'd rather your father not be there to see!), and I became delusional. All in all, it was a fantastic weekend. To top it off, I forced myself to go to work this morning and had to return home after another "incident" occured, you know, just to make sure that I didn't have a shred of pride left. But at least Cameron had a great party, Taylor is feeling 150% back to herself (as evidenced by the constant chatter going on in the house), and Isaac has proven to be the type of baby that simply sleeps a lot when he's under the weather, so I choose to count my blessings instead of the number of times I've had to change my clothes in the last 24 hours.