Charting A Sick Day

Sorry for not posting yesterday, but my recuperative weekend and nicely scheduled week flew out the window this weekend.  First it was postponed in favor of watching a Hoarders marathon and making Super Bowl treats all day, treats that my sons deemed essential fare for watching the game between... erm... Team One and Team Two.

Those treats backfired, however, when Graham woke up first thing on Monday morning and rejected the contents of his stomach.



No shock, really.  This kid contracts every. illness. possible. and he has a real knack for timing.



Since Graham's dramatic evacuation took place right before school, I was forced to keep him home even though I had my suspicions that his body was simply rejecting too much football chips and cheese dip.  I set him up on the sofa with a bucket and the television remote, and focused my attention on getting Cael ready for school.

Have you ever had to send one child off to school knowing that the other is relaxing at home, and is decidedly not sick?  This was my first experience.  Normally when Graham contracts his latest virus du jour, he feels bad, looks bad, sounds bad, and has no interest in food, clothing, or school.  But Monday's absence, courtesy of school politics, began with a plea for breakfast and an evil grin focused in Cael's direction, who was whimpering for me to let him stay home as well.

"Mom, come on!  Pleeeeease let me stay home.  I could throw up too!"



The worst part of a once-and-done digestive event is the uncertainty.  Did Graham's body simply reject the junk food?  When he complained of a headache earlier in the day, was that a symptom?  Should I wait to feed him even though he seems fine?  Are leftover doughnut holes part of the BRAT diet? 

Deciding to play it safe, I kept Graham sequestered in the basement until it was time to retrieve Cael from school, a task worthy of some major award, perhaps an ESPY or a TONY award, considering the delicate maneuvers required to deliver Gatorade and crackers to my son without being sucked into a never-ending game of Old Maid.

It's not that I don't want to be there for him, it's that if he's genuinely sick, I REALLY don't want to be there for him.



By the time we needed to retrieve Cael from school, Graham was practically buzzing with suppressed energy, and I could feel my reserves draining.  Plugged nose.  Frequent sneezing.  Abnormal desire for soup.

Turns out Graham was never sick to begin with.  I was the sick one.



So I hope this presentation clears up any confusion.  With one not-so-sick child at home and an oncoming cold, my plans got sidetracked.  But I'm back now, and with both boys in school, I'm able to focus on the important things again.