Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Scenes from a Germ-Laden Home

A gorgeous day. The kids are all inside. Mom is inside with them. All faces pressed at the windows, looking out--longingly.

Kid 1: Mom, my eyes are watering.

Kid 1 pushes her fingers across her eyelids, hoping to catch the offending drops before they land on the floor. She rolls her eyes.

Mom: I know. You have a cold.

Kid 1: Yeah, but I don't want this cold.

Mom: Yeah, well neither do I, but here we are now, aren't we?

Mom tries to hold in the sarcasm and the expletives that perch on her lips. She holds another tissue to her nose and coughs, twice.

Kid 1: I knoooooooow, Mom, but how can I get rid of it?

Mom: Sleep. You need more sleep. We all need more sleep. So go to bed early.

Kid 1: But it's spring break. I want to stay up late!

Mom: And you'd be able to, if you didn't have a cold. But you've got to get rid of this cold before school next week. Maybe by the end of the week you'll be better. Maybe then you can stay up a little later...

Kid 1: Yeah, well I didn't want this cold in the first place.

Mom: Sigh...

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Another gorgeous day. The kids are all inside. Mom is inside with them. All faces pressed at the windows, looking out--longingly.

Kid 2: Mom, my cheeks feel warm.

Mom leans in and places her fingertips to Kid 2's cheeks, which are flushed red. They do, indeed, feel warm.

Mom: I think you've got a fever. Hold on.

Mom touches her lips to his forehead, feeling the abnormal amount of heat, and then places her hand against her own forehead, which also seems warm.

Mom: Yep, you've got a fever. Let's get some ibuprofen.

Kid 2: I don't feel like getting the ibuprofen. Can you get it for me?

Mom: Yes, sure.

Mom gets the Ibuprofen and stubs her toe on the way out of the bathroom, which forces her to fall against the piano where she bangs her knee then hits her back in the place where her wound is still healing.

Mom: #$%^^&@....You didn't hear that, did you?

Kid 2: No, and thank you.

Mom: You're welcome.

Kid 2: I'm tired of this cold.

Mom: So am I, kid. So. Am. I.

Kid 2: Why did I have to get sick?

Mom: Why do you kids keep asking me this?

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The third gorgeous day in a row. The kids are all inside. Mom is inside with them. All faces pressed at the windows, looking out--longingly.

Kid 3: Mooooom! Melina just sneezed!

Mom: And?

Kid 2: She tried to sneeze into her arm but she missed.

Mom: And?

Kid 1: And the mucus is on the floor.

Mom: So pick it up.

Kids 1, 2, and 3: No way!

Mom: Seriously? How many times have I picked up your mucus? How many times have I wiped your bums? I never said no way!

Kid 2: I barfed on Daddy's shirt once.

Kid 3: I did, too.

Kid 1: I did, too.

Kid 4: Did I ever...what was that word? Barf? Did I ever do that on Daddy's shirt?

Mom: Oh for goodness sakes! You all vomited on our shirts at some point or another. And some day, your kids will do it to you. Maybe you should rethink your stance on wiping up this mucus! What do you say?

All kids: Uh, no.

Mom: Sigh...

Kid 1: I just have to say that I didn't want this cold.

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