Apparently the medical experts are right when they announce that HEY! You can only be sneezed on, coughed upon, thrown up on, and smeared with another person’s snot so many times before you end up with a cough that racks your body so hard, you’re pretty certain you might just black out and wake up on Wednesday.
Thing 2 has improved by leaps and bounds.
The boy and I have both crashed with the plague in his place.
I can’t even remember all of the weekend, because some of it is just a blur of yoga pants, cough drops, and knock-me-dead cough syrup that is reserved for nighttime use only, but I’ll try to recap the high points.
The biggest high point, of course, was that Thing 2 turned the corner at the intersection of Feeling Better and Pretty Much Well Now. The boy had early-release from school on Thursday, because parent-teacher conferences were scheduled. I had pretty much told him that Mama wouldn’t be visiting with his teachers, because why bother? He is a straight-A student, every teacher adores him, and his baby brother was sporting croup and RSV at the same time. And then at noon on Thursday, when it was apparent that Thing 2 was going to survive with a flourish, I realized that I was going plum-dang stir-crazy in the house. I had been indoors ALL WEEK, wearing my pajamas. I suddenly HAD to get out. Hubs’ mom took Thing 2 for an hour. I showered. I put on jeans and a dressy shirt. I used the hot rollers and added jewelry and perfume and dress shoes. I was all new, and ready to tackle the outside world.
Or at least six teachers sitting at tables with their laptops and my boy’s grade-check sheets.
The boy and I hit his conferences, which lasted only an hour, but SWEET MERCY! I was out of the sick ward! I had renewed my energy, and life was looking quite promising.
And then I woke up with a cough on Friday morning that deepened my voice to something James Earl Jones would covet.
What’s even better is that the boy had no school on Friday, and he woke up sounding like my twin. We were a coughing, hacking, spitting, pathetic duo, who tag-teamed one another to summon the strength to chase a FEELING GOOD Thing 2 all over our house, all day long. Thing 2 was back to his mischievous self, which means he ate dirt out of a potted plant and dumped the full bowl of cat food over.
But that didn’t stop the boy and I from having our date on Friday night. Hubs was planning to work quite late, because he was moving a computer system, blah-blah-blah, for a client, and the boy and I had scheduled an at-home date with one another. We put Thing 2 to bed, and then we had chocolate pie and popcorn for dinner. We sat on the sofa in our living room and talked and talked and talked. Mostly we talked about guns and sharks and spiders, which are three areas in life that my knowledge is strictly limited to one sentence: STAY AWAY FROM ALL THREE. And then we talked about school… about friendships… about dreams for the future… and about real life. It was a precious time.
And then we watched the movie Seven Days in Utopia together, because our friend, Peggy, had recommended it to us a while back, and because it involves golf, which is one of the boy’s love languages. The show didn’t disappoint us… it was fantastic, and the boy has officially renewed his hope for becoming a professional golfer.
On Saturday, the boy and his cough got into the bathtub at 6:30 AM, and they got out of the tub together at 12:30 PM. He soaked in the steam, and he read a book.
No. You did not read that last line incorrectly.
My boy VOLUNTARILY read a book, from cover to cover, in six hours in the tub. While he coughed up both of his lungs and a left kidney.
I laid on the sofa and moaned to anyone who would listen that I WAS SICK! AND ALSO VERY MISERABLE! And then, for emphasis, I coughed up my own lungs and a spleen, and loudly told everyone that when I coughed, I was pretty certain my head was going to explode and leave a mess in the living room.
That was our entire Saturday. The boy and I rotated between the tub, the sofa and our beds. We ate cough drops all day long. We sipped hot drinks. We let Hubs wrangle Thing 2, because our energy reserves were depleted. We had to store what strength we had to get through our constant coughing sprees.
Start at the beginning of Saturday’s description and repeat. Except the boy didn’t soak in the tub for six hours, reading, today, because he settled himself on the sofa with three pillows and a blanket and watched a marathon of Spongebob.
Neither of us had any internal organs left to cough up, so we simply coughed like we’d been swallowing forest fire smoke for days on end and hoped to high heaven that our foreheads didn’t rupture from all the cough-induced pressure.
And that is what’s been shaking down at the Jedi Manor for the past few days. Aren’t you glad you wasted a few minutes of your life reading all about it?
I’m off. I’ve got a date with some nighttime cough syrup.