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An Open Letter to Norovirus: Get Out of My House

Homemade cards are the best, whether you're 3, 30, or 93.Dear Family Norovirus:

We generally enjoy having house guests. The Cyclist happily makes homemade doughnuts on request, I keep the adult beverage center stocked, the girls happily share their toys, and we're happy to light a cracklefire to make things extra cozy.

But you, Mr. Norovirus, need to leave. (Or is it Ms., Miss, or Mrs. Norovirus? What the hell--it's probably all of those given the billions and billions of you who have been occupying our lives since January 18.) I've had quite enough of your charming calling cards--the gurgling stomach, the fast-moving nausea, the nonstop bathroom visits, the absolute lack of appetite for food or activity.

I mean, you even took down Scooter, who is pretty much the fiercest person in the family.

Seriously, Mr. Norovirus. I can't imagine why you'd want to mess with this one. She's roaring for real and mad as a hornet here.

When you arrived at our house yet again on Sunday (visit #3 for the Little Supervisor and #6 for the family overall), it was clearly time to stop being Minnesota Nice.

Giving this gap-toothed artist the "throw up bug" three times is just not right. (BTW: Unlike the photo of her sister above, she's roaring here to be cute. Big difference, trust me.)

One gallon of bleach, countless loads of laundry, and a slightly embarrassing interaction at the Little Supervisor's school, I truly hope you have left my home and gone to the great science lab in the sky.

I have now disinfected every doorknob, light switchplate, tech gadget, and bathroom fixture in my house. I have washed with bleach seemingly every sheet, pillowcase, blanket, and towel we've used. I've borrowed a habit from preschool and misted the girls' toys with a germ-killing formula of 1/4 cup bleach in 1 gallon of water. This morning, I even gave the treatment to the Little Supervisor's school desk, chair, pencil case, composition notebooks, workbooks, and hall locker. (Yes, I have become Crazy Bleach Mom. Props to the Little Supervisor's teacher and principal for taking that discovery in stride. I'm totally contributing something amazing to the next teacher appreciation lunch for that, assuming our house hasn't been declared a biohazard site and covered in a bubble by government agents a la "E.T.").

My new best friend and constant companion.

If any of you pesky little viral monsters haven't hit the road, I suggest you get moving. They're predicting a big snowstorm for later this week, and we will not be sharing any of our bread, milk, eggs, OR toilet paper with you. 

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