I am not a germophobe, not do I mysophobia, which is an unrealistic fear of dirt, germs and so forth, but earlier this week the kids informed me that their friend missed school because she had strep throat. We’d just had this girl over for a visit on Sunday; she turned up with strep throat on Monday.
Oh, crap! I don’t want a houseful of kids with step throat. My first instinct was to run home and douse everything with Lysol and set it on fire. I didn’t, but for the rest of the week every time I had even the tiniest tickle in my throat I was convinced I had strep throat.
I’ve had strep throat before and lots of regular sore throats. Especially, when the kids were tiny those little germ bags carried home every single virus imaginable from daycare and promptly gave it to me. I spent the first five years of their life with one non-stop cold and a few strange illnesses. I mean really what adult gets and ear infection? How about pink eye? It got so that every time I called in to work I felt like Corporal Klinger attempting to get out of the Korean War.
Over the years I’ve gotten used to getting sick, I am the one person in this house who has limited contact with the outside world-in this case, electronic contact doesn’t count. So, the family members who interact with real germ ladened people come home and give those germs to me. Since I am girl in the bubble, I get whatever it is they bring home.
No one likes a cold and I am no exception, but what I really hate are sore throats, nothing seems to make them feel better. Consequently, they make me really, really crabby and trust me you don’t want a crabby me. No, not even ice cream makes my sore throat better, but that doesn’t stop me from consuming copious quantities of it, you know, just in case this time it works.
Oh, well, it doesn’t matter, sick or not I am the mom and moms don’t have runner’s up; oh, how we moms envy Miss America. There is no one to step in and perform my duties should I fall ill.
This weekend my duties included costume designer my girls signed up for the school play. I was very excited for them when they both received parts in the play, or I was until I found out that the school doesn’t provide costumes, the kids are in charge of creating their own costumes.
Our Saturday consisted of hitting every resale shop in town looking for just the right pair of sandals to complete kid number 1’s king outfit. Meanwhile, kid number 2 needed an explorer outfit. When I pointed out that “explorer outfit” was a bit vague I got the “look”. If you have tweens or teens, you know the look. The look that says, “This is your problem, not mine.”
Oh ya, did I mention that kid number 1 also needs a toga. A toga! I am probably the only person in tri-state area who has never attended a toga party, so I have no idea how to fashion a toga. Not to mention, I don’t have a spare sheet. Okay, I do have a spare sheet, but the reason it is a spare sheet is that it is about a 100 miles south of white. Oh well,
I am going to wrap her up like a mummy and call it a day.
Jennifer Flaten lives where the local delicacy is fried cheese, Wisconsin. She writes about family life, its amusing or not so amusing moments. "At least it's not another article on global warming," she says. Jennifer bakes a mean banana bread and admits an unusual attraction to balloon animals and cup cakes. Busy preparing for the zombie apocalypse, she stills finds time to write "As I See It," her witty, too often true column. "My urge to write," says Jennifer, "is driven by my love of cupcakes, with sprinkles on top. Who wouldn't write for cupcakes, with sprinkles," she wonders.
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