My House Is Never Cleaner Than When One Of My Kids Is Sick

“Mommy! You need to take me to the doctor,” #1son moaned from the side of the toilet.

I hate this kind of sickness. Oh, who am I kidding? I hate it any time my kids are sick.

“Why do we need to go to the doctor?” I ask, stroking his back.

“So we can find out why my guts keep coming out of my body.”

Yep. It’s that kind. The throw-up-vomit-barf kind.  And on a side note, this is my kid who spikes a 104+ fever (106.1 and a race to the ER is our record) every time he is sick.

“Pumpkin,” I tried to sound calm, “You just have a flu. A really bad flu. You need rest, liquids and more rest. You’ll be better before you know it.”

“I don’t think so,” came the feeble reply.

For five hours straight, I ran from bedroom to laundry room to cleaning cabinet to couch to bathroom to basement (to find another bucket) to laundry room to garden hose (to hose down the couch cushions) to bathroom and to laundry room. Again. We went through 3 sets of sheets, 4 sets of PJ’s, one stuffed doggy and two blankets. I could barely keep up.

In between the clean-up-sterilizing-laundry runs, I read to him, I held him, and we attempted a board game.

He finally fell asleep. I spent those precious hours cleaning, cloroxing and lysoling everything in sight. As soon as he woke up, I tackled all the noisy chores: emptying dishwasher, vacuuming and putting stuff away in his room. I started a big pot of homemade chicken noodle soup (which he hasn’t touched but the rest of the family loved) and made lime jello, his favorite.

My house is never cleaner than when someone is sick. First of all, I’m stuck in the house. Not able to sit still for long, I clean. Second, someone is sick. Out come the Clorox wipes and Lysol spray. Switchplates, doorknobs, phones, keyboards and remote controls are wiped down every hour. Third? My house better be clean before the real SHTF. Because no one else is going to do it while I’m laid up.

I woke up this morning and the laundry is caught up. Every room is vacuumed and dusted. Sinks and toilets are sparkling. You could eat off my kitchen floor. (Although, I don’t recommend it.)

My idle hands itched for something to do so I washed combs and brushes. Straightened kitchen cabinets and took a box of winter clothes to the basement. With those tasks completed I realized I was a bit beat.  I decided to sit down and catch up with all of you.

That’s when it hit me.

“Sweetie,” I called out to #1son who was reading a book in bed, “how did your flu start?”

“My head,” was the reply, “It hurt really bad. All over.”

Uh-oh.

If you don’t hear from me for the next few days, you know what hit me.

At least the house is clean.

For now.

Hey, Feel My Forehead. My Kid Is Sick.

Yep. This is me.

And I’m not even the one who is sick. I have one sick little boy from last week. Not this weekend. Not today. From last week! His stinkin’ fever won’t stay away and I’m spent.

I know, I know. It’s all about me, right? Well, it is. I suck at being a nurse. Truly. You don’t want to get sick with me around.

I’m squeamish. (I’ll take my temperature as soon as I take yours.)

I’m paranoid. (I Clorox and Lysol everything in sight. Three times a day. Really. My house is never cleaner than when someone is ill.)

And I’m impatient. (For you to get well, that is.)

But I have been keeping up with you all. Reading you on my phone – in the carpool line (Because kids don’t get sick at the same time in this house – oh, no. They spread it out over weeks and weeks.) – while cuddling (at a distance – and trust me, this is possible) on the couch watching SpongeBob and Phineas and Ferb – while cooking dinner or hiding in my closet. (Yes. I hide from my kids sometimes. Sue me.)

I’m a bit technologically challenged. So I can’t comment. Just know I’m reading you. And missing being here. And popping herbs like there’s no tomorrow so I don’t catch this crud.

Pray for me. I mean, my son.

 

Like Mother, Like Son Or Is It The Other Way Around?

Five minutes from home, I noticed a voice mail message on my cell phone.

“I hope you receive this before you get home but #2son is complaining of a stomach ache. He’s in the infirmary now and you’ll need to come pick him up.”

I just dropped them off at school 20 minutes ago. He seemed fine.

It figures.

I was raised in a Western Medicine household. My great-uncle was our pediatrician. My mother was a intensive care nurse. There are more nurses, a surgeon and a general practitioner.

So I go off and marry a man who practices Eastern Medicine. I could just have well married a man from Mars.

“Are you sure these herbs are safe?” “Why am I taking all three of these?” “What does this one do?” “What if I just took that herb?” “I’m supposed to take how many? Are you sure that’s the right dose?” “Will this react with anything else I’m taking?”

My husband calls me his worst patient.

It’s OK.

He’s right.

When we arrive home, I call my husband. I tell him the symptoms our 6-year-old son is experiencing and he confirms my diagnosis. Well, not my diagnosis, but the herbs that I was planning on giving him.

“What did Daddy say?”

“He said it sounds like a damp cold pathogen in your digestion,” I tell him, getting the herbs from the cabinet.

“What are you giving me?”

“OK,” I say to my son, “These are for your tummy and these herbs are just in case it’s something more.”

“Something more?” my son asks.

“Yes. More than just a tummy ache.”

“But what if it’s not? What if it’s just a tummy ache?” He holds up the second dose of herbs to show me.  “Will these pills damage my body if it’s not just a tummy ache?”

“No, those herbs will not damage your body if it’s not just a tummy ache.” I’m fighting back the giggles.

“Are you sure?” He questions.

By now I’m laughing. I can’t help myself.

“You ARE your mother’s son!” I say.

“Of course I am, ” he quips, exasperated, “Everyone can see that!”

Yes. Yes they can.

 

(My week started out with two heavy posts so I’ve ended my week with some light-hearted family entertainment. I usually don’t focus on my kids too much here so if this isn’t what you’re looking for, I apologize. I suppose I’ve been spending some time lately counting my blessings. (And now #1son is going to wonder why he didn’t get any press time. I’d better start cracking!) Stay tuned next week for more thought-provoking words of wisdom. Or not. You’ll just have to wait and see!)

The (Health) Countdown to Halloween

My two youngest have just recovered from a cold?…the flu? …..H1N1 (formerly known as Swine flu)? A friend of mine said that her pediatrician told her that in our area H1N1 is presenting itself as a mild, upper respiratory, low grade fever kind of flu. That’s exactly what the boys had. Fingers crossed!

But that still doesn’t ease my mind about getting the vaccine (I’m still undecided) or if we should get the regular flu vaccine (which I wrestle with every year, decide not to and then sit on pins and needles all season worrying that I made the wrong decision) or if this last thing that passed between them (daughter and husband still healthy, I just had the achies for a day) will come back to haunt us in just one more day. Hold on, guys! I know you can do it!

You see, Halloween is a big deal in our house. Probably because we don’t keep candy in the house or even eat candy that much all year-round. But at Halloween we let them have a free for all, eating as much as they want for the week or two. Eventually, they forget about the candy (I’m not kidding) and I can toss the leftovers and they never ask what happened to it.

But when they’re sick? No candy. No sugar. My husband (Chinese Medicine Man) calls sugar “Rocket fuel for a cold.” And having to give up sugar at the only time of year we let them eat candy with abandon would be torture in this house.

Plus, I remember a Halloween not so long ago…ok, 40 years ago…when a sweet little girl had to miss Halloween. She missed the Halloween parties. She missed wearing her costume to school. (Remember when you could do that and not offend anyone?) She missed….trick or treating. She had the chicken pox. And all she could do (because she felt fine, her skin just decided to try on a polka-dotted costume that wouldn’t wash away) was stand about 18ft. from the front door and watch all the trick-o- treaters come and go. She had a very dear friend who carried around an extra plastic pumpkin to fill for her. But it wasn’t the same.

So, fingers are crossed. Toes are crossed. We’re eating Flintstone vitamins like, well, candy around here.

Hope everyone out there has a safe AND healthy Halloween!