Yellow Alert

What a week it has been. It started last Saturday night when Luke came down with the stomach bug. It was not as big a deal as I had always imagined it would be dealing with a vomiting baby (large towels can act just like spit-up cloths), but it's the after effects that have turned me into nothing short of a paranoid recluse on a germ-eradicating mission. I was okay until Zach came down with the virus on Monday afternoon. Then I just felt like a time bomb waiting to happen. I know no one deals well with vomiting, but I especially don't deal well with it. It's the anticipation that kills me. But so far I am still healthy (knock on wood), and I think it's fairly safe to say that I won't pick up the virus from Zach or Luke at this point. But did you know that the norovirus, which is responsible for most cases of gastroenteric illness, can live on a surface such as a carpet or the walls for up to a month, and not even freezing or boiling can kill the virus? I have cleaned my apt. inside and out, including washing the bathroom curtains and bleaching the toilet and all surrounding surfaces several times. Everytime I go into the bathroom, I still hold my breath and barely touch anything. It's crazy, I know, and I'll probably get the damn virus somewhere else at this point, but I hate to think of that creepy little norovirus lingering on the walls and floors of my home. I am on high alert and living in fear. It's crazy, I know, but in another week or so I will forget about it and go back to my regular ways of eating the cheerios Luke dumps onto the floor and kissing Zach on the lips again. But right now I have dreams of pointing a tiny little pistol at an invisible germ and blowing it to pieces. I wonder if this is how many republicans feel about terrorists.