It found us

I finally said it a few weeks ago. Something about how amazed I was that we haven't been sick, really sick, all winter. No days of school had been missed. No special lotion kleenex had to be purchased for sore noses. The just-in-case, because we live way the heck out in the sticks bottle of Tylenol sat there in the cupboard, unopened.

And then I knew it, I knew the dice had been cast, even as I took this picture on our way home that night:



Having sat across from them coughing all over us. Watching one of the daughters lay her exhausted head on the table because she was so miserable. Listening to the mom say how they took the son in to the doctor and found out he had pneumonia just a few days prior.

And they coughed. All. Over. Us.

I could say something about that, but I'm choosing not to.

____________________________________________


I head downstairs to rescue a load of wet clothes from the washer. It feels good to move. It feels good to do normal daily things again. Things like laundry, feeding my kids, doing dishes. Through the floor over my head I hear the mumbling rumbling of the restless natives.

"Moooooom blah blah (sister's name?) has my blah blah blah..." stomp stomp stomp...

"Mom! blah blah blah (sister) can't have blah blah blah..."

I can't quite make out his words, but I don't hear his sister screaming bloody-murder either so we're still good. Quite frankly, at the moment I'm glad to hear them back to their usual, and worried about my laundry. For real. As in, how much volume do you suppose our septic tank can handle in a day?

"Mommmmmmm..."

My old cracked florescent yellow laundry basket bends under the weight of wet clothes. I trudge back up the stairs to the entryway, that cursed location of my dryer, hoping the dang basket will hold out. "I'll be there in a minute. It can wait."

With surprising calm, quiet, right on the other side of the door, "Mom. It can't wait".

I open the door.

"She has our clothes hamper", although he didn't really seem that concerned about it.

"It's okay."

"She got it from our room."

"No, I did. See I'm doing laundry?"

"Oh."

"You have snot running off your face, that can't wait."



63. That this Mom was way more sick than her babies - because the opposite is never acceptable.

64. That the Dad was here this week, not traveling - because I could not have done this on my own.

65. Standing up without worrying I'll pass out. That's priceless.

66. Abs of steel that can only come from coughing that much, that hard, for that many days.

67. Endless clean running water for the five hundred or so loads of waiting laundry.

68. Having the energy and motivation to actually face that pile of laundry.

69. Feeling human enough to take notice of the dull soft gray blue morning sky that promises snow.

70. Gigantic sticky fluffy flakes floating from the sky an hour later.

71. Burning our trash. Sweet mercy it feels great to light up those germ laden tissues rather than just throwing them away. Maybe you'll just have to trust me on that.


PS. Keep your sick kids at home people, it's not nice to share that stuff.