Could my life be any more glamorous?
I can't possibly see how.
As you read yesterday (you did read, didn't you?), I spent a few hours having the Peezer diagnosed with conjunctivitis so that I could get a prescription for antibiotic eye drops that, when administered thrice daily, cause the child to howl and thrash as if I were placing hydrochloric acid onto his eyeballs. Of course, conjunctivitis is highly contagious, so we had to keep him on home quarantine today. After two days of searing hot acid medicated eyedrops, he should be over the contagious part and ready to get back to school.
At least, that was the plan until today.
It was going to be just me and the Peez, but the phone rang at 9:16 a.m. and the caller ID foreshadowed the party on the other end. And let's be honest - it's almost never good news when the number on the screen is your kid's school.
"MOM." It was Bubta. "My throat still hurts and I'm coughing again. I don't have tests today. Can you come get me?"
Yes, my eldest was a bit thick-throated over the weekend, as was I. He'd had a couple of coughing fits. But nothing that made either of us think this morning that he wasn't fit to go to school.
Then again, it's standardized testing week, and during the non-test periods they have study halls, so not much was happening. So, I went to retrieve him, 90 minutes into the school day.
Returned home, made breakfast, then attempted to do some work. Because I'm supposed to be "working at home", as if that's truly a possibility when the kids are in the house. You see? This supposed work-and-family balancing act? It's right here, baby, live and in person! Sure, you can telecommute, but in exchange for being Wired, we expect you will be Doing Things, you'll be productive, even while you're shuttling children to and from school and setting up activities and video games and cooking lunch and fetching soup and juice and medicating and all that jazz.
ANYWAY. I'm humming along at my laptop when the phone rings again, from the same number. 11:24 a.m. It's The Boss. "My head hurts and I have a stomachache," he said in his best weak, wan voice. "Son," I said, "There has to be more than general malaise for me to come pick you up. Drink some water, take a Tufferin, and try to go back to class, OK?"
He called again at 12:06 p.m.
"I threw up," he said.
"I'll be right there," said the Mother of the Year.
As I set out on my second trip to school, I had flashbacks of this awful week, where the stomach virus went around and around and our washing machine got quite a workout. Or of this time last year, when another kind of contagion infested our home.
Right now, at this moment, I've got three sick kids in three different rooms. One just threw up, another one threatened to, and a third one has a highly contagious something-or-other in his eyes. If I can keep the older two from getting pink eye and the younger one from getting the stomach virus, there is a chance I'll be able to do some actual paying work this week. But today, Monday, it's not looking good.
