On Sunday, I nursed a coffee and even contemplated leaving the house. Let me tell you why this was a Really Big Deal.
It all started after the long weekend. We had a lovely time – got lots of work done around the house and went to Ottawa to look at ice sculptures and use up some gift certificates.
Tuesday rolled around and everyone went off in their usual separate directions – for a while.
A couple of hours into the day I got The Call From The School (oh, how I loathe the call). It was about Girlchild. She had a sore tummy.
I hate the sore tummy. We have been afflicted by the sore tummy several times this school year and it is a tough one to treat as the chief symptom is something you cannot see and there is no fever. One could argue that is a good thing, but at least physical evidence is decisive when you are trying to discern whether someone is being overly dramatic. Not that THAT would ever happen around here.
Anyway, within minutes of getting home, Girlchild produced physical evidence. Hurray.
A couple of hours later and I got The Call again. (Are you KIDDING me?) Boychild had a sore throat, chills and a headache. “Can you come and get him?”
Stuck at home with Miss Physical Evidence, I called reinforcements. Nan generously picked up Boychild and deposited him at the front door. Oddly, she didn’t seem to want to come in, preferring to linger in the driveway.
Tuesday ground into Wednesday. Short people were still ailing and my hands were raw from washing.
Thursday dawned with me firing at about 50 per cent, but my Denial App was fully functional. Girlchild was still down, but Boychild was school-bound.
Sensing imminent doom, Groom-boy offered to stay home and hold down the fort while I dealt with some work commitments, which would also mean not having to bring in reinforcements and expose them the vileness that had infiltrated our abode. We do love our extended family.
I lasted until mid-afternoon and then slept with my BlackBerry. (I know this takes my relationship with Mr. George BlackBerry, Executive Assistant, to a whole new level, but I couldn’t help myself. Usually I keep him out of bed, but his helpful little bicycle bell chime alerting me to work messages was very useful on Thursday.)
There are no paid sick days when one is self-employed, so taking time off is a bit of a mental game. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it), working electronically can be a good cover. That said I had pretty much resigned myself to defeat: “I’ll never catch up, but this flannel blankie is so awesome.”
Overnight, Boychild decided to try out what his sister and mother had been doing. Groom-boy flew into action – on the hour every hour. I tried to help, but whenever I showed up I felt dizzy, so I figured it was better for me to just stay in bed than to pass out in the bathroom and add to the excitement.
So we all stayed home on Friday and decided to make it Family Week. We also covered the outside of the house with plastic wrap, sprayed it with Lysol™ and plastered a “quarantine” sign on the door.
You know, it’s times like these when I truly stand in awe of single parents who don’t have support networks. Thankfully I was able to take naps and hand duties over to Groom-boy, who saved the day(s) and ran the household. I was glad I didn’t have to expose grandparents to any of this pestilence.
Fortunately Groom-boy got some slack on meal preparation as there really wasn’t a lot of eating happening.
And I must thank him for letting me sleep. Stay well.
By Saturday, we were all sitting upright for longer periods of time and appetites were returning. I was starting to panic about all the work I hadn’t been able to do, so I figured I must be on the mend.
Next year for Family Week maybe we should just go far away.
Published in The Perth Courier, March 1/12