On Saturday morning, Riley Mac woke up with complaints of a splitting headache, sore throat, and a 102 fever. It quickly spiked to 104, prompting us to cool her down in the tub, start antibiotics for strep, and keep her quarantined (as to not infect her pregnant mother or two siblings). She was made comfortable in her bedroom, given all weekend access to her iPad, and waited on hand and foot.
Naturally, during this time, Warren and I cleaned the entire house, top to bottom. Over the course of two days, we washed 17 loads of laundry and disinfected over 100 light switch panels and door handles. We went through four bottles of 409 and various bathroom cleaners and 12 rolls of Bounty towels. (My knuckles are all cracked and open, and the burning intensifies with each cleaning and hand washing.)
While Mac was "held captive," in her luxurious spa-like bedroom, the other two played together. Campbell and Charleston did great staying out of our way, while we scrubbed toilets and stair rail banisters. However, there were moments of chaos (as there ALWAYS are when Charlie is involved)!
Saturday evening, Campbell came downstairs, to find me in the kitchen spraying 409 on all the cabinet pulls and handles. Quite calmly she asked, "Mommy, is my mouth bleeding?" When she opened her mouth, I had to smother my gasp and pretend her mouth was not FULL of blood! "Umm, yes. Yes, it is." "I thought so," she said. I grabbed a handful of Bounty towels and pressed them to her mouth, in hopes of not only stopping the bleeding, but to figure out WHERE the bleeding was originating. However, when I removed the first fistful of paper towels from her mouth, and Cam saw the extent of her injury, ALL HELL BROKE LOOSE! Where as moments ago, we were all calm and collected, now we were all in some sort of full blown panic mode! Campbell (who is notorious for anxiety spiking at the sight of blood AND for her complete horror at all things involving tooth loss) began to scream, "OH MY GOSH! OH MY GOSH! OH MY GOSH!"
"No, no! No need to panic! It is OKAY, Cam!! Mouths just bleed more than..."
"AGHHHHHHHHH!!! NO, MOMMY! NO! I AM BLEEDING! I AM BLEEDING!"
"YES, I KNOW YOU ARE BLEEDING! JUST...just calm down! You are fine."
**shrieks of terror** **uncontrollable crying**
"CAMPBELL, STOP IT! YOU ARE GETTING BLOOD EVERYWHERE!!" (Bad move, on my part, to point that out.)
**sees blood dripping on the floor** **begins to run in complete hysterics**
"CAMPBELL!! STOP MOVING! I JUST DISINFECTED THIS ENTIRE KITCHEN!! CALM DOWN!"
She ran down the hall, into the half bathroom, and began to half vomit/half spit blood into the bathroom sink that one could have used as a bowl and ate out of (per application of my exceptional disinfectant skills, a mere hour ago)!
"CAMPBELL! YOU ARE MAKING MOMMY SICK! PLEASE, STOOOP! TWO MINUTES AGO, YOU WERE NOT EVEN CERTAIN THAT YOUR MOUTH *WAS* BLEEDING!!"
(It should be noted, that during this INSANITY, my mother called me - within a span of 40 SECONDS - six times in a row!!! SIX!!!!!!!!)
Once I got her calmed down and cleaned up, she remembered that her mouth did not even hurt, and THEN could not tell me exactly what happened!! "I think Charlie accidentally hit my mouth, with a toy."
"You THINK? Honey, you were hit with SOMETHING, with enough force to BUST your mouth wide open!?"
"Huh. I guess so, but I do not know. Can I go back upstairs and play with Charlie?"
**mouth drops open** **speechless** **Cam rushes back upstairs** I (routinely, at this point) grabbed the chemicals and started to clean and disinfect the entire half bathroom and half of the kitchen, again (thanks to the running around like a complete lunatic).
Sunday arrived, and I took Campbell and Charlie to church and the grocery store, while Warren started to clean Riley Mac's bedroom. Throughout the morning, her fever was still hanging on at 102, so she herself (voluntarily) drew a cool bath and got in. Once the Cs and I got home, and we all had lunch (at staggering intervals, to avoid contact with Riley Mac), I began to 409 all the kitchen chairs and island (for, approximately, the 20th time). When doing so, I heard Warren shout beside me, "CHARLIE! WATCH OUT!!" Two seconds later, a blood curdling scream erupted, followed by pure diva hysteria! Charleston had turned too quickly and walked her eye right into the corner of the island. She hit the kitchen island, with such force, that it threw her back about three feet and sent her flying into the floor. The bruising was instantaneous. The shrill crying lasted for hours. (Fine, minutes, but it FELT like hours.) Warren scooped her up, sat in the floor, cradled her, and attempted to console her. Once she was calm, and the other girls had conducted LENGTHY inquisitions re: what happened to Charlie and if she was okay, we went back to laundry and cleaning.
Riley Mac turned a corner, late Sunday afternoon, and had received almost 48 hours of antibiotics. Ergo, we decided to "release her from captivity" and allow her and her sisters to play and eat dinner together. After dinner, the clean up process began (yet again). Charlie and Campbell, who are both obsessed with vacuuming, ran to get a couple vacuums. Charlie opted for a small hand vac, while Campbell chose the stick Dyson. The deafening sound of two vacuums running in a large kitchen commenced. Then, silence. Then, WAILING AT A LEVEL PREVIOUSLY UNHEARD, THROUGHOUT THE WEEKEND OF HORRORS! When I looked over, Campbell was standing, with her mouth open in shock, holding the stick Dyson across both arms, parallel to the ground. Charlie was lying on the floor under her, with her hands over her face. "IT WAS AN ACCIDENT," Cam finally managed to shout!
"SHE HIT ME, MOMMY! SHE HIT ME!!"
Cam, getting upset because her little sister was hurt, "It WAS an accident!! I PROMISE!! I DID hit her - WITH the vacuum - BUT IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!!"
Warren peeled Charleston's hands from her face. (FAN-EFFIN-TASTIC!) On the opposite side of her face, under the OTHER eye, was a SYMMETRICAL bruise to the kitchen island bruise! Cam had picked up the vacuum to carry it back to its storage area, at the same time Charlie had stopped using the hand vac and stood up, causing Cam to literally WHACK Charlie across the face with the stick Dyson. (Given the weight of the vacuum, force of the blow, and the size of Charlie, I am shocked it did not knock her out!) At that point, I told Warren, "We are going to have to keep these kids indoors, for the rest of the week! Someone is going to call Social Services, if they see these children!!"
"I agree! Charlie looks like she has been in a boxing match!"
"There is NO WAY we can explain this! THE BRUISES MATCH, FOR GOODNESS SAKES!!"
After all was "back to normal," the girls walked over to my parents', to hang for a bit. Knowing she was bound to call, I went ahead and made the first move. I called and told my mother all about what had happened, over the weekend, and how I was jokingly afraid someone was going to "turn us in." Mom, all too excitedly said, "YES, and it will be ME! I am reporting! They will have to come LIVE WITH ME! (Pure enthusiasm, in her voice!) Riley Mac told us how she was LOCKED in her bedroom all weekend AND forced to take COLD baths! Campbell told us her mouth was busted, but that it was no big deal. And we can, CLEARLY, see Charlie's face!! Go ahead and back their bags and send them up. Grandma will take good care of them!"
Fast forward to two hours after the nanny arrived, this morning. She sent me this picture.
APPARENTLY, when Charlie was slammed to the floor (who knows whether it was the kitchen island incident, vacuum accident, or both), the landing(s) bruised her arm. So, now, my mother and the nanny (BOTH of whom would love to steal my children) are undoubtedly plotting how they can acquire and raise my girls. At least, if one of them succeeds, I have this fourth baby on the way. Perhaps, we can keep this one safe (doubtful).
...and people think having all girls is easy breezy and constant sunshine and daisies! It can look more like gorgeous blonde and blue flowers that have been TRAMPLED all over and, somehow, (by the grace of God) managed to survive!! The best I can do is offer to pay their future therapy bills.
