'Something' made its violent round through our family

I hate when I hear the phrase, "Yeah, there's something going around."

I hate it because I know it is going to soon make a stop at my house. Before I had kids, I never got sick. I was strong as an ox. But kids are these little germ sponges just waiting to infect everyone they come in contact with. If you have an ox problem in your backyard, I suggest you send a third-grade class out there. The ox will be gone in no time.

So the current thing that is going around made its stop at my house last Friday morning. Around 2:30, my wife and I were awoken by my son, how can I say this, belching a volcanic surge of illness over our bed. Lovely way to wake up.

Springing into old-war-movie mode, I sent my wife out of the room and told her I would take over. "Go to Allie's room - save yourself!!!!" OK, so that's not exactly what I said. But I did send her to lie down with Allie, who had been awoken by the guttural explosion of her brother. And, since I was covered in said explosion, I figured I would not be a good candidate to get our daughter back to bed.

Parker opted for two more airings of "The Exorcist: Parker," at 4 a.m. and 7 a.m. During the 4:00 show, I held him upside down from the bed, his head in a trash can, waiting for a break in the action to haul him to the bathroom. As I held him, he turned and looked up at me and said, "I'm sorry, Daddy..." It broke my heart to hear him apologizing for being sick. "Son," I said. "Do not apologize for this. Save that apology for college, when you do it in a friend's glove box."

Parker mended fairly quickly, and after going two days without any more exploding, we figured we were out of the woods. And then 3 a.m. Monday came. Allie, always the efficient one, decided she would take Parker's three performances and roll them into one big epic show. And man, what a show. Even added a fever to boot. My wife and I again hopped into action mode, this time forgoing anyone saving themselves, as there was WAY too much clean-up needed. My first step was to take care of our comforter. Hey, wanna know what I learned? (A) A king-size comforter does not fit well in your standard home washing machine and (B) Screaming at it does not make it fit.

We perched Allie on the side of our bed, a trash can nearby, in case she opted for an encore.

Turns out, I would be the encore. Around 6, I awoke and heard a gurgling noise. "Hmm, Allie must be feeling sick again." And then it occurred to me, "Hey, if it's Allie who is sick, why does it feel as if I have small, angry porcupine in my stomach?"

My wife was awakened by me hurdling over the bed to the bathroom. I will spare you the details of the next 10 minutes or so. But when I did return to the bed, I informed my wife that, in the history of mankind, there had been one person who could relate to my level of suffering, and his name was Job.

Allie and I spent the rest of the day lounging about, watching TV, doing occasional indoor sprints. We tried to lounge upstairs together, but we could not come to agreement on television choices. (Her: Disney Channel. Me: Anything but Disney Channel.) She eventually migrated downstairs, where she could watch "Full House" on Tivo perma-loop and have the added bonus of, every few minutes, screaming, "Daaaaaaaaa-ddddddy! Come down here." I would make my way downstairs, and she would say, "Wanna watch 'Full House?'"

By the end of the day, both of us seemed to be not as gastrically volatile. We both even dined on a fine meal of mashed potatoes. I am hoping that the yech stops with the three of us, and my wife is spared the exciting day of illness. Granted, if she does get sick, there is an upside: She IS a big fan of "Full House."

Mike Gibbons is the Managing Editor of the Aiken Standard. Contact him at mgibbons@aikenstandard.com.