Messy Minded Momma

I’ve been MIA lately because I just survived 22 hours of laundry… and one very traumatized Spider-man bucket. What started as a normal Sunday night turned into a full-blown household takedown. In hindsight, I should’ve known we were in trouble the moment the Spider-man bucket entered the chat.

I once read that humans have a subconscious, biological drive to choose partners with different immune systems so their offspring ends up stronger and more resilient. I fully believe that’s the case in my family.

My son started daycare at 15 months old, and it took less than two weeks for him to bring home his first cold which, of course, he generously shared with me. Since then, every virus or bacterial infection he picks up hits me ten times harder. My husband, on the other hand, remains completely unscathed.

Well… that was until last week.

At first, it was just my husband and me who got sick, him worse than me, surprisingly. We assumed it was food poisoning since our son was fine. And because my husband typically eats more than I do, I figured that explained why he was taking the harder hit.

We had bought a rotisserie chicken from Loblaws that we didn’t eat right away. The next day, we decided to use it up before it went bad and made chicken caesar salad for a late-night snack while watching TV. It was Sunday night, our son was already in bed, and honestly, this salad was elite. Garlic butter croutons, fresh grated parmesan, crisp romaine, a squeeze of lemon, Renee’s dressing, and bacon bits for my husband. The perfect balance of crispy, creamy, and savory. Chef’s kiss. We went to bed a few hours later with happy, full bellies.

Less than three hours later, my husband was sprinting to the bathroom. Liquid. From both ends.

The smell alone nearly took me out. Caesar salad doesn’t smell good on the best of days, never mind this version of it. And to make matters worse, my husband is a loud puker. Like… aggressively loud. Between the smell and the sound effects, I didn’t stand a chance.

While he claimed our ensuite, I bolted down the hall to our son’s bathroom, praying I’d make it in time. I sat down, and suddenly it hit me…that wave. The sweating. The racing heart. The excessive salivation. Oh no. It’s happening. In a full panic, I spotted my son’s Spider-man Halloween bucket, the one he uses to carry Hot Wheels from his playroom to the bath. Without hesitation, I grabbed it… and filled it. Thankfully, there were no cars inside. They were still drying safely on the edge of the tub from his bath a few hours prior. Small wins.

This went on all night. The two of us fighting for our lives, racing each other to the bathroom like it was some kind of twisted Olympic sport. We changed the sheets so many times it felt like we had a playlist on repeat. Eventually, we gave up and slept on a bare mattress, towels underneath us for what I can only describe as emotional support.

Driving my son to school the next morning felt like a high-risk activity I did not sign up for. I am not a risk-taker, so naturally, I was anxious the entire time. My stomach flipped and cramped for the full commute, while the Spider-man bucket sat in the passenger seat like a loyal co-pilot… just in case.

My husband and I spent the entire day rotating between sweats, chills, and sleep. At that point, we knew…this was not food poisoning.

Sure enough, we got our son to bed that night only to be woken a few hours later to him experiencing the exact same symptoms we had endured earlier. Any parent knows caring for a sick child is hard on a good day. Add in two extremely unwell parents, and it’s game over. I was up every 30–60 minutes, catching my son’s vomit in that same Spider-man bucket. A true full-circle moment.

The next day, I did laundry for 12 hours. The day after that? Another 10.

Our house looked exactly how it felt, like an F5 tornado had ripped through it. Empty Gatorade bottles, ginger ale cans, popsicle wrappers, bed sheets, and clothes covered every surface. We looked and felt like extras on The Walking Dead.

Somewhere between the chaos, the exhaustion, and that poor Spider-man bucket, I realized…we didn’t just get the flu, we survived it. Barely.