You know what's the worst?

* Your tired head has barely hit the pillow when you hear your littlest one crying. Drag your sorry ass out of bed to investigate, poor little guy has a "tummick-ache". You rub his back and croon sympathetically, hoping to lull him back to sleep. It seems to work, so back to bed you go. (You don't really take him seriously because for the past week, he's invented every excuse under the sun to delay bedtime).

* Not two minutes later, another cry. Louder, sharper; followed by the ominous "ralph" sound. You leap out of bed but its too late. Poor baby is covered head-to-toe in puke (why oh why did you make lasagna that night?), as are the pillows, bedding, sheets, and bed frame.

* Clean up the little guy as best you can, stripping him and the bed down, then sit the poor duffer in front of the toilet (you know, to be safe) while you track down a hamper for all the soiled laundry. Shudders and dry heaves when some chunks land on your toes and you notice the leg of your pajama pants is completely wet. Wiping down the bed frame, you hear the ralph sound again; abandon that chore to comfort your baby and wipe his little face.

* Bedtime is now on hiatus. Look at the clock, its is just past one a.m. With a sigh (because you know how this is all going to play out, having been here many times before) you collect fresh bedding and pillows for your little one and make a nice little nest on the couch for him. Grab a pillow and blanket for yourself because you'll be joining him. Turn on a cartoon, grab a puke bucket, towel, and a glass of water, and settle in for the next two hours of hell.

* Frantic dash back to the laundry hamper, sorting out the worst of it; dunk those items in the toilet to loosen the chunks. Take the laundry downstairs and run that load, not noticing that one pillow has a slight rip. (An hour later, about to transfer to the dryer, you see that the entire washing machine is filled with puffy heaps of fluff. Oh for fricks sake!!)

* After four more good hard pukes, the little guy's "tummick" is completely empty but the heaves are still there, meaning all the sips of water you've forced on him in between are now on evac. After an hour of vomit, he is now expelling foam, mixed with yellowish bile. Not even enough energy to sit up, he turns his head to the side and heaves onto the towel you had the foresight to lay over his pillow. Finally, around 2:30am he falls into a deeply exhausted hard sleep. You curl up on the other couch, making sure your cellphone alarm is nearby. (After all, life doesn't halt just because you want it to.)

* Hubby's morning routine rudely awakens you around 5:45am. Thankfully baby is still out, but so is your hope for being able to fall back asleep. The weather channels says its -33 outside, -39 with wind chill. Surely the buses will be cancelled for today, right? Right?

* By 7am, with still no reported bus cancellations for your school district (though every other one has been granted that boon), you make the executive decision to keep the kids home. But it looks like the appointment made yesterday to get your tire's slow leak fixed will be rescheduled -- this is going to be a long day.

* Around 9am the little one wakes up. He immediately chugs a glass of water, despite your warnings to "drink slow!". There's that ten-minute period where you follow him around with the puke bucket but it looks to be okay. Phew! He says he has to go pee and goes into the bathroom.

* A few minutes later, your daughter comes to you, "Uh, mom, you need to deal with this." With dread you open the bathroom door, expecting anything. Oh holy mother of god. We have now entered Phase Two of The Sickness: The Diarrhea. On the toilet seat. On the floor. On the side of the tub. And your poor baby is standing there, no pants, looking sad and wretched and guilty. "Its okay, baby" you croon as you run a bath. Get him settled in, then attack the bathroom with disinfectant wipes. So what that you used the entire container.

* With that done and over, your little one assures you he feels up to a bit of yogurt and juice, yay! While you're setting that up, your daughter needs to use the toilet. "Uh, mom...." And here she has contracted The Diarrhea as well.

And so concludes Part One...