It only took six days. Yep, just six days of commingling in the public school system, sharing toilets and lunch tables and craft supplies, until one of my kids caught something icky.
Kid D came off the bus on Monday afternoon acting strange. He didn’t want to go back outside. He didn’t want to play with a friend. He didn’t want to swim. He didn’t even want to play video games. Wait, …what? That boy must be ill.
I originally presumed it was the aftereffects of playing outside in the insane humidity (it was still 99 degrees outside at 7 p.m. on Monday here).
“Drink some water,” I said. “You’re probably dehydrated.”
But alas, he continued his downward spiral and very quickly earned entry into the Sick Males Club (marked by incessant whining with no direct correlation to the severity of the illness, an unquenchable desire for constant attention, and requests for very specific – and usually inconvenient to obtain – food and drink items). He was running a very high fever, but had few other symptoms. He has been home for two days. It seems like two weeks.
Even though I am tired of hearing my name called out every minute on the minute (Enough already! There is no way that your fingers are too weak to press the buttons on the remote. I am sensing a scam here.), I have to admit that I enjoy having alone time with my kids occasionally. I enjoy fussing over them and showering them exclusively with my attention while the others are at school. I love that my little boy still needs his mommy when he is sick. I love that I can make him feel better by reading with him and chatting with him and making him comfort food and rubbing his little feet.
But I would love it more if he got all better soon. It makes me sad when my kids are sickos.
Wish me luck for tomorrow…