My chance of lifetime came wrapped up as a four-day fully loaded girls-only trip to Las Vegas. No kids. No spouses. No lunches to pack. No laundry to fold. No dinners to make. Heaven in Sin City. Sign me up.
For the first time in five years, I was going to be away from my family. Considering the last time I left my kids for more than one evening was a 10-night stint in a medically induced coma, this was a big deal for me, and even greater proof that when life gives you a second chance, you better darn well appreciate it.
I should have known things weren’t going to be so easy. I should have been prepared for the last minute insanity of my own procrastination and the fates of contagious disease. Murphy’s Law and the stomach flu hit our household right on target.
Not just the flu. No, we had to have a head lice scare too. Yes, the two weeks prior to Vegas were entertaining enough to make me want to pack up and run away.
I learned more than I wanted to know about head lice nits and managed to stop the little critters before they spread their love to the rest of the family. I did enough laundry to satisfy my inner OCD germ-a-phobe. All that was nothing compared to the laundry to come with the life-sucking stomach flu virus that hit us next.
It came without warning. It hit hard and fast five days before my departure. First my son got it. I nursed him back to health and cleaned up his mess, lovingly kissing his fevered forehead. Then I made the fateful mistake of suggesting he cuddle up with me. Stupid. I should have run for a gas mask and contamination suit.
Two days later, the flu took me down. Not just down, people; down and out. It was ugly. I was so sick the children gathered outside the bathroom door in tears, thinking I was dying in there. They wrote me love letters of support. The Carpenter delivered the nectar of the Gods, also known as ginger ale, to my room and ran back out for fear of his own demise. Like me, he knew his time was coming.
That night, my daughter woke up to her own version of the flu, and I was too weak to help her out. The Carpenter, now realizing he was no longer immune, had to rescue her. The flu was spreading like wildfire. By the next morning, the Carpenter was grey too.
Mommy guilt hit me with almost as much ammunition as that virus. With less than 48 hours to go, I would be turning my back on a sick husband who would have four days of solo parenting.
The children bounced back in hours: The Carpenter, however, looked like death warmed over.
The morning of my departure, I had still not packed. I was debating cancelling the trip. Crazy. Guilt is so overrated. If this were a guys trip to Myrtle Beach, the Carpenter wouldn’t think twice. What was wrong with me? This was Las Vegas, baby. There was a penthouse suite at Caesar’s Palace waiting for me. The girls were waiting.
With a “just go, I’m fine ” smile from the Carpenter, I packed my bags in less than 30 minutes.
Viva Las Vegas. Viva La Gravol. I’m outta here.