‘Tis the Season

So, we’re in the thick of it now: cold and flu season. So far, thanks to diligent hand-washing and flu shots, we’ve avoided the flu at our house, but the head colds have been running rampant. I just recovered from my first cold-turned-sinus-infection of the season, and hubby’s got a sinus infection himself now (on a business trip, no less, and you really haven’t enjoyed the full effects of a sinus infection until you’ve flown with one). String Bean has either had a month-long endless cold, or about three colds back-to-back. Peanut has been the luckiest, with only mild versions of the cold each time, but she more than makes up for it with the fact that she’s three now, and acting like it.

I can’t even blame preschool for all of these colds, as the girls have been off school since a week before Christmas. I read a study once that said kids who are in childcare or preschool, those lucky ones who have multiple colds every year of their young lives, have a lower risk of developing childhood diseases, like leukemia. Something about a well-exercised immune system. I don’t know if that study has held up over the years, or if it was just written by a parent trying to reassure himself that all of those colds his kids brought home were worth something in the end, but I’m looking forward to the end of this cold season, and I hope next year all of our systems are a bit tougher.

The Little Painter

Last week, when Peanut was running a fever of 102 and had to miss school, she seemed happy to be staying home with me. That is, until we dropped String Bean off at school, and Peanut saw all of her friends heading into her preschool class. Then she started complaining that she wanted to go to school, to see her friends, and because she needed to paint. I stopped by her class, to tell the teacher (who is also the school director) that she wouldn’t be attending that day, to warn her that some bug was clearly going around, and to relay the message that Peanut was sorry to miss class because she needed a painting fix. The teacher smiled, turned to Peanut and said, “You want to paint? How about doing it at home today?” She led us to the storage closet, handed me a watercolor painting kit, and wished us a good day. Peanut was thrilled, once the Tylenol kicked in, to spend the morning painting pictures without a big sister’s interruption, and without the time limit imposed by school schedules. And I was thrilled by the gesture this teacher/director made.

Sick Days

One of the tough things about motherhood is the lack of sick days you can take off. I’ve been down and out with a tough head cold this week, and my 4-year-old is right down here with me. To make things worse, she’s done with preschool, and off for two weeks before the summer session begins, so our routine, the cornerstone of her existence, is blown. This would make both of us a tad more antsy, even if we weren’t both sick. Add to that that hubby is out of town, and we’re a pretty cranky household right now.

I’ve noticed that when I’m sick, it’s not just tough that the endless demands of little ones never cease, but I suspect that their need for attention actually increases. Maybe this is a special reaction from my two precious ones, but when they see me running extra slow, trying to spend generous amounts of time on the couch, giving in to the urge to lay down or close my eyes for a minute or two, they go crazy. It’s like their sense of safety and security is thrown into the balance at the sight of a sick and weary mother, and they feel compelled to harass me until I perk back up and get back to the business of running the house.

Whenever I’m sick, I feel like if I could just get a few nights of decent rest, then I’d bounce right back. So why is it, when I’m sick, that my girls give up napping (as if they know that all morning I’ve been dreaming of taking a nap myself), fight going to bed at night, call me in the middle of the night to reassure them after nightmares or phantom bug sightings, and wake extra early the next morning? I feel like they’re testing me, making sure that even though I’m cranky and tired, I’ll still make sure they are cared for. And I understand this childish type of fear, and so I do push myself to take even better care of them when I’m sick. Which, I suspect, makes it take even longer for me to recover. Oh, but what I wouldn’t give for just one sick day, to rest and not care for anyone but myself.