A note to parents of children under the age of twelve: IF YOUR CHILD IS SICK, KEEP THEIR SICK BEHINDS AT HOME!
I understand parents nowadays don’t have babysitters, nannies or grandparents readily available to watch their spawns when the ever possible illness arises. I know that in the wake of cold and flu season – this being one of the worst thus far as stated by doctors the country over – it’s hard to determine when your child isn’t sick because they ALWAYS seem to be sick. And you have my heartfelt sympathy when you have a nasty, good-for-nothing, butt-munch of a boss who has either never had children in their lives or had them so long ago they’ve forgotten what it’s like, and this keeps you from calling off to be home with your children when all else fails. But everytime you send little Timmy, Susan and Billy back to school with their noses still a flow, their heads so hot they are virtually walking saunas, and faces reflective of hot, pink fish, you are telling me you could care less about my child. Because you are, in essence, sending your petri dish into a laboratory and telling it “now let’s see what you can do.” And you know what? The petri dish always wins in that science experiment.
It is so early in the morning this Sunday I can’t believe I’m still up. Mooter and BFam have just returned from their second home this past week alone – the ER. Diagnosis? Viral infection. Again. That’s right. The same viral infection she and I were home with last week. The same viral infection she’d overcome. The same viral infection little Timmy, Susan and Billy still had and gave back to her. My days have been filled with I’m sick. I hurt. My knee. My eye. My ear. My big toe. My other toe. No, my other toe. No, not that one, the other one. It moved. My hair hurts. My hair is touching my face. My lip is bleeding. My lip FEELS like it’s bleeding. My eye is moving. My tooth hurts. My arm has white stuff on it. My leg is moving by itself.
Keep your children at home or, I swear to God, I’m sending you to my house as punishment. Don’t make me do it.