I never really understood those people who claimed that time is relative. That time is not absolute and can speed up and slow down depending on where you are, or how fast you’re going, or other amorphous, discombobulating, big word science stuff.
Then January happened. And kept happening. Wouldn’t stop happening. It was a January that lasted for seven years. It was a January aging in dog years.
But hey! We all survived! And before murdering anyone (I’m assuming)! It’s now the beginning of February. Winter is officially half over. Which I feel I would be much more excited about if my one child hadn’t been coughing since November and the other one didn’t currently have a low-grade fever and runny nose that is going to last until April.
I look forward to seeing you all again in May. Possibly June. Most likely 2034 when these two apple-cheeked petri dishes move out of my house.
Honestly, it wouldn’t be that bad if these perpetually sick children had the decency to come down with an illness that makes them want to lay on the couch all day watching TV. You know, like any decent sick person with morals would do. But nope. My kids only get the germs that prevent them from going to school or library story-time or eating normal food or doing any chores BUT leaves them with enough energy to destroy my home and my sanity and my immune system.
I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t fighting to get all my oxygen needs through nostrils that were only 13 percent operational. I’ve been dealing with an endless line of noses running so hard they would likely qualify for the Boston Marathon. And I’ve been riding a mucus tsunami like Moana crossing the sea to return the heart of Te Fiti, which is a very apt comparison considering I have seen “Moana” 116 times in the past five weeks.
“Mom, how come you’re not sick?” my son asked one day while casually handing me a distressingly soggy tissue.
“Because I have mom immunity. And I drink whiskey for medicinal purposes. And also technically I’ve been sick since the day after Christmas but everything still needs to get done because life is cruel and unfair.”
“Oh. Is dad sick too?”
“Yup.”
“Where is he?”
“Army crawling to work. Y’all expensive and we need to keep our insurance.”
Everyone in this stupid house keeps breathing all the same stupid air making each other sick but we can’t leave because we’ll make other stupid people sick so we stay stupid inside trying not to stupid kill each other while our stupid germs have air orgies and make new germs that we breathe in that make us sick all over again.
And even when we get better, we’re not really better. And if we are better we aren’t better for long. Every time my son comes home from his school filled with other walking pathogens disguised as children, I can practically see the germs gleefully jumping from his hand to his backpack and giddily lying in wait for the moment when he asks me to carry it home for him and I give in because I’ve had 42 fights with his toddler sister that afternoon alone and my spirit is broken. And then those germs jump onto my hand, supersonically shouting out their battle cries and hacking away at my white blood cells with their super tiny axes.
Or, you know, however germs work.
There’s been so much sickness lately, in fact, that it’s gotten to a point where I’m a bit insensitive about the whole thing.
“What? You’re sick again?”
*child finishes puking* “Yeah.”
*sticks thermometer in ear* “I mean, you only have a temp of 102. Here’s some Tylenol and a shovel. The driveway needs to be cleared out.”
*child has devastating coughing fit* “…ok…Momma…”
“And then after we can watch ‘Moana’ again!”
*child gives thumbs-up from fetal position on the floor*
So, like I said. I look forward to seeing you all again in the spring. When everyone is finally healthy but all our allergies have kicked back in and we spend the majority of our time sneezing in your face.
Chick Writes Stuff 