Before the sun came up this morning, Paul was awake. In the bathroom. Without giving away specifics, I think that our giardia concerns are well founded.
He woke me up a little after 7am, Will was awake and singing in the front, but Kate was surprisingly still sound asleep. This is all highly unusual. I made the beds, got out clothes for the kids, picked up a stirring Kate, made breakfast for everyone, and started making lunches. Paul was enjoying a few minutes of sleep on the couch and I wanted him to get in as much rest as he could.
Until, at 7:53, I saw that it was Will’s snack day. Damn.
Paul threw on clothes and walked up to Whole Foods (they open at 8). He came back a little later than expected because Salma Hayek was there (she’s in town for the V-Day to the 10th performances tomorrow night). When he does get back, he comes equipped with proscuitto and french bread*: we made 30 tiny proscuitto and cream cheese sandwiches on french bread, with grapes and cereal bars (bringing snack means both morning and afternoon snack). We finished lunches. This is between trips to the bathroom for Paul and me disinfecting everything around each of us every 30 seconds. Finally, at 10 minutes to 9, 45 minutes late, Paul and the kids are ready… and I notice Kate’s poop. Big. Loose. Poop.
Six minutes later they are out the door and I am washing everything with bleach water. (Have I sung my praises for bleach lately? Maybe it’s my inner epidemiologist — or maybe my inner parasitologist? — but I could not live without El Cloro.)
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* For the record, I would have never, ever, thought of this. The sandwiches are beautiful, delicious, easy, and practically gourmet! Serious props to Dad on this one!
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