So I’m sick; no, not Sarc sick, normal sick. Achy head, phlegm in throat, and general malaise or as I like to call it, being a parent. You know. The kind of sick you get when your already sick kid sneezes into your face and you can literally feel the spatter of spittle on your eyeballs. There’s no emergency response for something like that. You just sit there, swallow the bile bubbling up your esophagus and await the inevitable buffet of cold symptoms to present themselves in the following days.
Sometimes Hugs and Kisses are Not Appreciated
This is a universally accepted part of being a parent. When your kids are sick, you will eventually get sick also. It is unavoidable. This is especially true if you’re a stay at home parent and spend nearly all your time with these miniature germ volcanoes. Kids do not accept coughing and streams of greenish-yellow snot as valid reasons to refrain from hugging, kissing, cuddling, or any other close proximity interaction. Facial tissue is merely a tyrannical parent mandated substitute for the perfectly serviceable shirt sleeve; child’s shirt or parent’s shirt equally qualify though it should be noted that a parent’s shirt is far better suited for a full face wipe as it provides simultaneous snot clearance and nasal itch remediation.
In this context, an oral shotgun blast of infected saliva to the eyeballs is nothing more than a slightly more novel mode of disease transference, though its one typically reserved for parents. Even hardcore drug addicts typically balk at employing this rapid delivery system. Kids, however, embrace it and will launch their phlegm projectiles eyeward without the slightest provocation or regret. Sure, you can yell at your kid for not turning their head or covering their mouth but it won’t change the outcome of the act nor will it prevent them from doing exactly the same thing next time.
And why are my kids sick? Because they exist. Because they go to school. Because they play team sports. Because they are pawns in our Society sanctioned, real-time evolution experiments where we encourage the interaction of beings possessing limited hygiene skills in hopes of fast-tracking mundane viral candidates into full blown pandemic instigators. Parents, by default, become the secondary transmission test subjects. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one. Mr. Spock, you’ll note, has no children.
Kids Refuse To Sleep In
In this particular instance, however, my kids’ getting sick was exacerbated by an attempt to have fun as a family. Family fun is always a risky endeavour because fun is antithetic to health. And why is that so? Because kids refuse to sleep in! There’s even mathematical proof of these two variables conspiring to ruin lives.
Kids’ Life Math:
Laze around all day + reading books + colouring + watching TV + go to bed at 7:00 p.m. = wake up at 6:30 a.m. = stay healthy.
Run around with other kids like lab rats on crack + swimming + magician + video games + movies + junk food + go to bed at 11:00 p.m. = wake up at 6:30 a.m. = get sick.
Parents’ Life Math:
Laze around house + read + television + quiet conversation + go to bed at 9:00 p.m. = get woken up by happy kids running into your room at 7:00 a.m. = stay healthy
Buffet breakfast +golfing + alcohol + junk food + alcohol + dancing + alcohol + go to bed at 12:30 a.m. (and yes, embarrassing though it may be, that is extremely late for me these days) = get woken up by psychotically over-tired kids running into your room at 7:00 a.m., jumping on your bed and sneezing into eyeballs = get sick.
So I’m sick; no, not Sarc sick, normal sick. And because of it I can’t think of any witty way to finish this blog post so I’ll just stop and go to bed and hope the kids sleep the hell in. Huh. Looks like I just found a way to finish it.
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