Sick of being sick

All three boys are home sick again today. I’m hoping that this is the height of ridiculous illness as we’ve already had two bugs pass through almost all of us, along with conjunctivitis in just the past two weeks. This morning, Casey crawls in bed with me, sniffling, but wiggly enough that I can tell he’s on the mend. I grab my pillows and blanket and lazily steam roll over him so he’s underneath both me and my bedding.  “Why is my bed so lumpy?!” I yell and he laughs, so I struggle more aggressively to get comfortable on my very bony Caseybed. “It feels like there’s something wrong with it!” I dig my elbows in.


I’m super glad he feels like a human. The rest of us, myself included, look and feel decidedly less than that.  I’ve been getting sick a bunch lately. Since my hysterectomy (I had one of those, it was a party, I’m sorry you missed it) the end of last year, I’ve really tried to do be healthy.  I’ve done all of the good things that Ariana Huffington told me to get good sleep, I eat well, etc etc. So there’s no reason I should be getting sick so much.

I mean, other than the fact that I have four kids going to three different schools.   I’ve only had about 1/4 of school days so far without a kid home.  I even went so far as to call the district to get an exemption for Abby’s new favorite way of coming home early: puking. “Please do not send Abby home unless she’s really sick. No more of this ‘Oh, she threw up a little after shoving seventeen poptarts in her face at snack time’ shit. I mean it. There had better be blood.” The letter I got from her pediatrician was slightly less salty.   I always forget to call the school for their absences though.  (Heh. I misspelled “absence” and got “abscess” and that would be something I’d hope they’d want pictures of rather than me calling to describe it, but who knows, maybe the attendance ladies are into the spoken word.) I forgot where I was going with that.  Oh! I wish that we could text the attendance office. I  mean, then, I guess kids could, too, pretending to be their parents and bypassing that whole “sounding like an adult thing.” Even still, if Carter were to text the high school as me saying he was going to be absent so he could ditch school he’d be way ahead of me in the adulting department. I’d probably forget to text them, too.

Ugh, if I’m being truly honest, there’s a chance that my house is making me sick. I’ve often wondered if snot shows up under black light like other, grosser bodily fluids do. If so, my house would light up like a discotheque (Somewhere in the future Carter is reading this and groaning at my use of “discotheque”).  It’s not that I don’t clean. I clean a lot. It’s that I don’t clean enough. Having four kids, one that’s a veritable snot factory 9 months of the year makes it hard to get all the nooks and crannies and usually to find bottom of my kitchen sink. I try to find new ways to motivate myself to clean because I’m not quite dead inside enough to actually enjoy it.  A good motivation is the threat of DCFS. “Ma’am, we heard that you published a post about how the levels of bodily fluid in your house would cause it to light up like a disco…what’s this word? I’m sorry, I was born in 1990…” Oooh. That might be enough to get me through my kitchen!

Or maybe we share too much. I like the sound of that the best. It’s altruism that’s making us sick. In the Mag household, every drink quickly becomes everyone’s. I’m not writing this by way of saying I’m going to change, I’m not, but more as a warning. Don’t put down your drink in my house. Or fork.  But that’s more the nature of having three teenagish boys, a daughter that literally doesn’t feel full ever and a mom who eats to cope in one household. That also makes us look less like humans, too, even when we’re not sick. We all kind of wander around numbly looking for carbs like zombies look for brains.

Only mostly dead.

Who knows? I just know that I’m sick of being sick all of the time. The only thing worse is being the one that has to take care of everyone and everything else. It’s usually Lance, and not always on account of him being the least sick. It’s that sweet moment between a couple when you both feel whatever creeping death the kids brought home hit you and you race into bed to dibs being the one whose the most sick.  Lance had a winning streak for a while until I bested him with needing a hysterectomy. BEAT THAT, ASSHOLE. He makes it a lot less fun by being totally awesome about taking care of everyone no matter what. Killjoy.

I’m going back to bed to rest with a warm cup of tea, some soup and a good book. Probably a classic.

Just kidding, I’m going back to bed with a soda, a loaf of sliced bread I wrestled from Carter and my phone so I can tell people on Reddit they’re “tools” and possibly call the attendance office.

One thought on “Sick of being sick

  1. I hope you’re feeling better by now.

    A lot of my autoimmune stuff popped up after my hysterectomy, probably because I had to slow my ass down for five minutes in order to heal. When I relax or slow down, I inevitably get sick or get hurt. My body is weird as hell.

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