Catching More Than The Break We Wanted

I feel like IF ANYTHING is going to sum up my life right now, it is this:

I think this has everything to do with the fact that I helped with centers in Thing 2’s classroom Monday morning, and I felt like I needed to put his teacher’s INDUSTRIAL SIZED bottle of Germ-X in a holster around my waist.  I’d kneel beside a table to help sound out the word MAMMAL with one child, feel the fallout of a sneeze drift down to settle over me, like a barely-wet blanket, and then it was all PUMP, PUMP, PUMP with such a frantic effort, I could have led a kingdom of neurotic hypochondriacs with an empowering speech from my castle’s balcony.

Because on Monday, both of my boys were still holding onto their health, with a robustness and bright-eyed glow that put their classmates to shame.  If there was ever a time when I wanted to seal them both up in a protective plastic bubble and launch them back into the flu-sporting community, it was then.

Their health continued through yesterday.  I fed them delicious leftovers and even deliciouser Ramen noodles for dinner last night, because listen:  If I am going to spend the effort sauteing and measuring and mixing and wiping the sweat off my brow over a frying pan, then we are going to eat what’s left of my hard work the next night.  The queen has issued the proclamation; let it be as she has said.  However, some of the boys in the kingdom decided that, while Mama was at Bible study, they would supplement their leftover roast and potatoes and carrots with a nice bowl of Ramen noodles.  Whatever.  I cannot win all the parenting battles, and Ramen noodles is one I won’t fight.  I know that I should, because CHEMICALS and ZERO NUTRITION, but I just feel like if my child wants to eat a sheet of cardboard sprayed with all the ingredients found in a can of aerosol hairspray, then who am I to stop him, when he’s six months shy of being eighteen and an eligible voting member of our country?

All was well.

Thing 2 went to bed.  His elderly mother went to bed.  His elderly father (who is still clutching his youth tightly in his fist and claiming that he’s capable of staying up all night) stayed up to watch hockey on TV.  The boy was doing homework.

I had, in fact, just talked to the boy about his homework before I crawled into bed, because he asked me to look at one of his math problems.  One of his CALCULUS math problems.  It might as well have been written in Hebrew or Chinese or whatever language they speak on Jupiter, for all I understood of it.

And then… at precisely 9:30, the boy was hunkered down over his bathroom toilet, throwing up like he was trying to qualify for the Olympics, and his fever was shooting out the top of his head with a reading of 101.

So apparently… here we go again.

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