Last week both of my middle schoolers came down with the flu.
For a solid week they ran fevers, and did nothing more than watch TV and use even more cups than usual.
On Tuesday when my husband announced from the bed that he felt like he was coming down with it, too,
I stared at myself in the mirror for a long time like a Zoloft commercial and posted this S.O.S. to my friends:
“January 28, 2020
Captain’s Log #388:
As much as we have tried to keep the virus contained,
the two larger creatures have been contaminated.
Although the small one showed some initial signs,
it appears, possibly because of her advanced training, that she is able to will even this into submission.
At this point I am running the observatory completely alone.
One by one all help has fallen.
Supplies are dwindling.
Questions on the viability of this mission are arising.
Through this, I am also having to trust the word of my co-captain that he, too, has contracted the illness and that that is why he has been watching TV and eating snacks in the employee’s lounge station all day, although there are suspiciously no verifiable symptoms at this time, even though he has been requesting I see if he feels warm at least five times a day.
I will hold as tight as I can to my mission.
Too much work has been put in at this station for me to abandon it now.
I must stay and finish the course.
Signing off in hopes that this is not my final entry.”
In addition to the Pop-Up Infirmary,
this week also just so happened to be my youngest daughter Paige’s very first week with the new “5000 Amazing Facts” book she had been given for her birthday, and let me tell you,
there is no better time to be told about brain shrinkage than when you are trying to remember who took what medicine last and when.
While I slung Elderberry Syrup Paige told me facts.
As I squinted at medication dosages,
she was right behind me reading me facts.
As I stirred homemade soup, wiped counters, fetched tissue, spoke with the doctor, and got ice,
there she was one foot away at all times with her facts.
She read them as I peed.
She read them as I drove.
In a boat, with a goat,
on a train, in the rain.
5000 facts may seem like a lot.
That is because it is.
As the girls reached their 5th missed school day due to fever, I began to worry over getting reported to the truancy board, and figured that the least that I could do would be to homeschool them some;
so I turned on some reality TV and made them tell me any grammatical errors they heard.
ME: “Hear that? She said ‘That could’ve went better.’ What was wrong with THAT one?”
CHLOE: *feverish* *couch ridden*
“Mama. I don’t know. Do I really have to do this right now?”
ME: “Yes, Honey.
This matters.
What should she have said instead of ‘could’ve went?”
CHLOE: *weakly* “I don’t know…Could have GONE?”
ME: “Yes! Take THAT Truancy Board!”
For days it went on like this:
Dosing meds, assessing symptoms, FACTS, rubbing on essential oils, reading scientific studies on the flu, FACTS, silently judging all snacks my husband requested that didn’t seem like true “sick person food.”
You know.
The work that we do.
I ran this ship alone and I did it well,
if I do say so myself,
and when all was said and done and I had finally reached the weekend, my plan was to sleep in as a well-earned reward.
For days I had ignored my own sore throat and aching body in the interest of taking care of my family, and now that everyone around me finally seemed on-the-mend,
I thought this was my chance to recharge.
So, there I was,
barely into my first quality rest in a week when one by one, wouldn’t you know it,
in filed three members of my family one at a time to jar me awake by shaking and asking worried sounding, “Are you OK?!s”
Because, apparently, it is not the sight of a mother exhausted, and doing the running of a household completely alone to the detriment of her own body that is concerning to them.
Apparently the most worrisome thing to a family is not seeing mom look like she will collapse under the work of caretaking for an entire family while listening to near-constant facts,
but is, instead,
simply seeing Mom’s eyelids closed.
I was reminded of the period when she was three that Paige liked to randomly pretend that she was dead.
I started to think maybe she was onto something back then.
Their recovery time lasted all week this last week.
I got two hours then
“Our appetites are back, Mom.
Time to look alive.”
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
