The babysitter cancelled. So the two toddlers headed to work to me, which today was at a school out on an island, across a long bridge and very far from much of anything.

We were locked out of the building, the wind was whipping, papers were blowing. Toddler number one had to pee. Toddler number two blew out her diaper, bad. Toddler number one peed her pants.

The event ran late - two hours late. The toddlers screamed, cried, ranted, raved.

And then, the virus that had plagued my house for two weeks, that the two screaming toddlers had just overcome; the virus I thought I had managed to dodge with zealous hand washing and OJ drinking, struck.

I threw up. Everywhere.

And then, it moved south, if you know what I mean.

Finally, it was time to go. We loaded up. The battery was dead.

A little more than 45 minute later, the local police arrived to jump us. I couldn't leave the seat of my vehicle to greet them. It was icky, if you know what I mean.

And, I forgot I had left the super nasty diaper on top of my SUV so we wouldn't have to smell it inside the whole time. The cops definitely noticed.

The hour and a half ride seemed like an eternity as I fought to keep the urge to vomit at bay and tried to convince the screaming toddlers, that seriously, we were almost home.

And at home, the dog had torn up the garage. The cat had puked on the carpet. And my oldest son was puking too.

My youngest son was in tears. It was 9 p.m. and he needed a costume of Hawaii's King Kamehameha by 8 a.m. the next morning for school. 

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

And sometimes, that happens.

But sunrise the flow of sickness had subsided. The costume was done, if not perfect and the messes were cleaned up.

It's going to be a fantastic, wonderful, very good day.