This happened over the weekend, but I am just now at the point where I can think about this and totally laugh about it.
Let me preface the story by first telling you that all day Friday and Saturday I was consumed by the monster known as the Neighborhood Yard Sale. Love going to yard sales...hate having them. Waking up at 5:00 on a Saturday to haul all my junk onto my drive way so people can complain about how $1.00 is waaaayyyy too much for that electric drill is not my idea of fun. But at the end....YAY money!
Where was I? Oh yes. Yard sale.
That same day my daughter had a costume fitting for her role in the Nutcracker Ballet. In the next town over.
By Saturday afternoon...I was toast. Physically and mentally.
My daughter invited her little friend over to spend the night. Okay-not a problem. Usually they disappear into her room and only come out for snacks.
By 9:00 I was in bed. Exhausted.
By 12:00 am I was woke up by my daughter.
"_________ is crying. She wants her mom. She says she feels sick."
Stumble into the room. Find _____ in the bed crying. She's had a sinus infection and had been taking antibiotics, but I guess she still felt crummy.
"I want my mommy!"
"Are you sure? What's wrong?"
"My head hurts and my stomach hurts and my throat hurts and I want my mommy!"
I come back with my cell phone. "Okay, I'll call your mommy."
"NO! I don't want to go home!!"
"Honey you are sick. Let me call your mommy."
(Next 30 minutes involves a phone call to Mommy and Mommy coming to bring her very sad, very sick feeling child home.)
I take my daughter back to her room.
"AAAAAARRRGH! MOMMY! A ROACH IS ON MY WALL!" She runs out of the room.
Do you know how much I hate HATE roaches? I am seriously afraid of them. And a collosal one is on her wall in her room. (Don't judge me- my house is clean and we pay the exterminators twice a month to spray.)
Armed with bug spray and a fly swatter, I braved the roach. Meanwhile my daughter is hiding under the kitchen sink, as she shares my hate and fear of roaches.
Too high to swat, the roach was on the wall behind her dresser. So I sprayed.
It fell behind her dresser. Her huge dresser. And it wasn't dead.
I proceed to pull this 200 pound dresser away from the wall. Mr. Roach is apparently not happy that I sprayed him and charges at me from behind the dresser.
(Next 10 minutes is spent jumping up and down flailing a fly swatter a hundred times on one roach. I think I knocked all his legs off.)
Scooped up the roach, went to flush it down my daughter's bathroom toilet.
The toilet is stopped up. Did I mention her little friend had been on antibiotics? Yeah, we all know what happens. And it happened.
So I walk all the way across the house with a dead cockroach the size of my shoe to flush it down *my* toilet. (No-I can't just throw it in the trash. I just...can't) I'm fighting the urge to gag and my skin is literally crawling. I can't throw that thing away fast enough.
Get the plunger. Go back to my daughter's bathroom.
(Next 15 minutes is spent plunging the toilet.)
"Night night Momma! I love you!"
Wide awake. It's 1:30 am.
"I love you too, honey."
ONLY ME. Surely this stuff only happens to me.