They're Actually Going to Be the Death of Me. Seriously. Send help. And chocolate.
Hola Wild Boy followers, and welcome to our weekly update from the Casa de Testosterone. This week saw the return of an unwelcome visitor here - illness.
I love summer, so much. I love it because there's no school, which means no homework or drop off or school projects or Tuesday envelopes...but MAINLY because elementary school is literally like a giant germ incubator. I have a theory that the CDC is actually using these little institutions to breed germ warfare that we will one day use to try to overcome alien invaders. It's so simple...sprinkle a few germs on the tetherball or chains on a swing and let nasty little non-hand washing, food sharing imps spread it like wildfire throughout entire communities. But wait, you say - who would ever do such a thing to adorable little children? And this is where the true evil genius of the plan comes in - these illnesses effect children for roughly a minute and a half. Whereas the parents suffer for what seems like an eternity.
Let me give you an idea of how colds play out here in la Casa. Two weeks before school starts I start forcing the Wild Boys to take their daily vitamins and probiotics in preparation for submersion in the disease factory. Every day I start reminding them to please, please wash hands and don't share food. I heartily encourage them to shun sick children. Day one of school, they hold pretty well to the game plan. Day two, they start to stray. And by day three my children apparently actually start intentionally licking the desks of children with runny noses and deep, hacking coughs just for the heck of it. By the fourth day of both of the children and I are all sick.
Gabriel, always the first to succumb although sometimes only by a matter of hours, will have a day where he is exceptionally quiet and tired. His whopping 56 pound frame will shake with coughs that sound like he should be on the snowy streets in a Dicken's play. He'll look at me pathetically and yet will stoically go to school and soccer practice. Then, two days later he's magically healed.
Gavin will follow Gabe in the infection wake zone. Being ten, he's getting closer to adulthood and will suffer somewhat more. His days with the cold will be peppered with existing on the verge of tears, and asking questions like "if this turns into pneumonia I'll die, won't I?" He'll go to school, miss one soccer practice but make a full recovery by the time his soccer games come on the weekend.
Last, I'll get the cold. I'll attempt to carry on with day to day functioning. I'll miss a few hours of work one day and ignore the fact that I may in fact have an ear infection. I'll then develop a cough that sounds straight up like Doc Holliday with full on consumption waiting for my final days in a sanatorium where I'll die alone because my children have healed and forgotten me entirely (the common cold always reinvigorates my Irish Catholic mother guilt). Finally, as my children take my money to go buy snacks for themselves and their friends from the snack bar between games while I'm waiting through six hours of soccer at the butt crack of dawn on a Saturday morning, I'll make a mental note to write them out of the will I'm preparing. I'll sit on the side lines dying. Meanwhile, they'll be on the field running for a solid hour, no evidence of illness whatsoever.
Followed by staying out until midnight at a baseball game...
I love summer, so much. I love it because there's no school, which means no homework or drop off or school projects or Tuesday envelopes...but MAINLY because elementary school is literally like a giant germ incubator. I have a theory that the CDC is actually using these little institutions to breed germ warfare that we will one day use to try to overcome alien invaders. It's so simple...sprinkle a few germs on the tetherball or chains on a swing and let nasty little non-hand washing, food sharing imps spread it like wildfire throughout entire communities. But wait, you say - who would ever do such a thing to adorable little children? And this is where the true evil genius of the plan comes in - these illnesses effect children for roughly a minute and a half. Whereas the parents suffer for what seems like an eternity.
Let me give you an idea of how colds play out here in la Casa. Two weeks before school starts I start forcing the Wild Boys to take their daily vitamins and probiotics in preparation for submersion in the disease factory. Every day I start reminding them to please, please wash hands and don't share food. I heartily encourage them to shun sick children. Day one of school, they hold pretty well to the game plan. Day two, they start to stray. And by day three my children apparently actually start intentionally licking the desks of children with runny noses and deep, hacking coughs just for the heck of it. By the fourth day of both of the children and I are all sick.
Gabriel, always the first to succumb although sometimes only by a matter of hours, will have a day where he is exceptionally quiet and tired. His whopping 56 pound frame will shake with coughs that sound like he should be on the snowy streets in a Dicken's play. He'll look at me pathetically and yet will stoically go to school and soccer practice. Then, two days later he's magically healed.
Gavin will follow Gabe in the infection wake zone. Being ten, he's getting closer to adulthood and will suffer somewhat more. His days with the cold will be peppered with existing on the verge of tears, and asking questions like "if this turns into pneumonia I'll die, won't I?" He'll go to school, miss one soccer practice but make a full recovery by the time his soccer games come on the weekend.
Last, I'll get the cold. I'll attempt to carry on with day to day functioning. I'll miss a few hours of work one day and ignore the fact that I may in fact have an ear infection. I'll then develop a cough that sounds straight up like Doc Holliday with full on consumption waiting for my final days in a sanatorium where I'll die alone because my children have healed and forgotten me entirely (the common cold always reinvigorates my Irish Catholic mother guilt). Finally, as my children take my money to go buy snacks for themselves and their friends from the snack bar between games while I'm waiting through six hours of soccer at the butt crack of dawn on a Saturday morning, I'll make a mental note to write them out of the will I'm preparing. I'll sit on the side lines dying. Meanwhile, they'll be on the field running for a solid hour, no evidence of illness whatsoever.
Which brings us to Sunday. I'm intentionally avoiding the cop to spare him this misery. Meanwhile, he's coming home from graveyard shifts and doing my morning chores so I can get a few extra hours of sleep because he's a really good guy. He's going to factor largely in my will. He's going to be super stoked to get all those music boxes and jigsaw puzzles I've been accumulating.
Until next week, may your days be filled with good health!
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