A Spoonful of Sugar?

By Sheilah

No he won’t take it in a cup, no he won’t take it on the moon, no he won’t take it at noon, no he won’t take it on a spoon. Dylan won’t touch the stuff—cough syrup will never pass his lips. He cringes at the thought. Not a drop. He won’t do it to save his skin, or his sore throat and cough. I’ve tried every brand over the years, and they all make him gag and throw it back up. See that purple spot? 2007, it was a good year. Orange over there? The year of Delsym. Don’t even mention “thin strips” lest we throw up in our mouths a little bit.

About once a year when he gets a cold we’re out of luck. We go old school: rest, water, vitamins, soup, fruits, veggies, Vick’s vapor rub is all we can do. He’ll happily swallow a pill, so when he got old enough the doc said Tylenol would work. But no cough drops or medicine-laced lollipops. He will take a squirt of nose spray occasionally. But one thing’s for sure—he will never be an addict. This is good news.

He just coughs up and out his cold, like we’re supposed to, like the cave men did. I kept him home from school two days last week because of the nasty phlegmy cough and sore throat. If he’d taken cough syrup, he could have gone to school, could have slept more soundly. Oh well.

We watched a few movies and got lots of reading in and played cards and built Legos and colored in Shel Silverstein’s poem pictures. It was a blast having him at home as a captive audience, not a moving target. I so enjoyed my cuddle time. One day he’ll swallow what’s good for him, and then he’ll be gone from me, at school with the others masking their symptoms. Darn.  

Thank God I'm Not Really a Nurse, But I Play One at Home

By Sheilah

Born into a family of nurses, I was supposed to be one. Actually, a doctor. Dad sent me into the operating room observation area to watch some surgeries when I was in high school, and the blood, the gore, the cutting of the head open did not bother me in the least. I sat there eating my deliciously refreshing Junior Mints and enjoyed the show. But neither did it fascinate me. Still, for some odd reason I signed up for pre-med in college, first time around. Maybe everyone does? Delusions of grandeur, or living daddy’s dream, or trying to make up for being a wild child? Regardless, I dropped out after two semesters, and never made it back for several years. And I knew what I wanted then; actually, I knew what I wanted after reading Harriet the Spy.

But the medical jargon and discussions seeped into my brain, my genes, my overly attendant attitude for the sick, or the overly diagnosing what’s wrong with you, hoping you are sick. It didn’t come out until I was a mother, and then, woo doggie, did it come out. I kept a feeding and poop diary on my son from day 1, which I would never recommend. It gets you obsessed with, well, poop. That came back to haunt me this week. After not worrying about issues involving bowels for years, my almost 9-year-old got constipated. I got suppositories, raisins, raisinets, yogurt-coated raisins, prunes, apple juice, cod liver oil pills, kid laxatives, adult laxatives, carrots, peaches, ad nauseum.

The water probably did the trick.

So enough with the nursing. I don’t like me as a nurse. I am not a patient person, in more ways than one. I would have made an excellent doctor.

What did you think you were supposed to be when you grew up? Are you glad it didn’t happen?

Decisions, Decisions, Decisions....Welcome to the Circus

So I'm one of those Mom's. The selfish ones who don't quite make every event that their child is in or volunteer at every opportunity. Tonight is our older son's first ever performance in marching band. He's doing quite well with it. In fact most of the complaints and whines have been mine ("How much money?, "What times are practices?", "Quick, who knows how many traffic lights are between us and the high school?", and "I hate a car pool lane.") Usually those statements are a touch more umm, verbose. What can I say? I love a good whine.

But my life, like so many of us, is a constant juggling act between the kids, and my parents needs. Of course throw in there the house, hubby, work, the never ending yard work, and there you have it, a 16 ring circus complete with juggling and the high wire. 

My Daddy is in the hospital and I am worried. No two ways about it. So I'm sitting here with the "do I stay or do I go" syndrome. If I stay, then I get to see my child perform in the marching band for the first time ever - which I so badly want to do. And I'm already planning on going next weekend which means I'll miss his first time in uniform. If I go, then I can't go next weekend, and will I be able to do everything I need to get done at their house this weekend? Probably not. Plus we have plans for the weekend - which makes me seem selfish.

In between all that someone always seems to "charitably" notice my absences or when I decline to help at an event. It's so very helpful when someone tells me that their life is complicated, too. Especially when I don't remember trying to make it a competition. I even once heard that if going stresses me out so much than I just shouldn't go. Uh huh - to me that really smacks of selfish. I not so charitably have decided they are the chattering monkeys in the circus. They are focused on their own lives (rightly so), but never give credence to your own complications.

As I sit here writing this, I suddenly get inspiration from the Disco channel, yeah, I said DISCO. Sister Sledge is singing "We Are Family" and the lines, "Have faith in you and the things you do" goes past me and then sinks back into my heart. Every day we all make decisions and juggle and hope for the best and all I can do is have faith while I ignore the chattering monkeys and try to juggle in the circus. Please tell me I'm not the only one with the chattering monkeys, guilt and juggling act!

Perfect Attendance - Sure, Let's Start a Pandemic

True confession time - I despise going to the awards ceremony. Oh, it was fun the first six times - when they were little and so cute and everybody's kids got some sort of award. But as the years wore on and more and more kids started falling by the wayside (mine included sometimes) and the cliquish mommies and their entourages appeared, I'd almost rather have a failed epidural again (long, long story there). Hubby can hardly ever come (I am expecting him at their high school graduation. I hear it's not during the daytime, aka work hours.) so I am there alone. I confess I am jealous of the entourages. Our families are too old, too sick and too far away and I miss getting to share my children with them.

In the back of my mind I had sorta blown off going this year. I didn't know of any awards mine were receiving, but last night at Scouts I found out that the eighth grader will have a "commencement" ceremony. Well, duh, of course he would. Didn't even think about it. So I asked my son, and he confirmed it...but he couldn't remember the details. C'mon people, a little help here. You're expecting hormonal teens to tell us all the appropriate details?? So I guess I'm going. In typical fashion, I will look for something to amuse me. Fortunately it doesn't take much and I do have a favorite story - here goes:

Of all the awards handed out, there is one award that crawls up my skin like a tick. The Perfect Attendance Award. Every year, I've watched kids get praised for not missing school and every year, I've thought, "Goodness, how can this happen?" My kids can catch something by being within 20 miles of you and your sneeze and somehow these kids can do it, no problem. Maybe your kid has had a great illness free year, but there's a good shot that one of those kids came to school sick and passed it through our house. So one year as I sat there thinking back on just how many days our sons were out during flu season, a child is called up on the stage for his award. He walked up being applauded and cheered on, and...threw up on the stage and on the principal's shoes. I think he might shoulda stayed home, umm, sick, that day? I still remember the faint ripple of giggles which I can only believe were the other Moms who had spent days taking care of their sick ones. We weren't laughing at the child, but at the circumstance. Can we maybe consider not applauding perfect attendance? I know we want kids to attend school...but really sick is sick. How 'bout it?

Sending Sick to School

You could probably tell from my article about sending kids to school sick ("To Send or Not to Send") that I was fairly emotional about the topic. With flu season around the corner, I am stressed already that my children, God forbid, will get sick again. This school year I have already received 2 of those ‘letters’ even though we had sorted out the problem with the first that arrived. I really have broken a personal best! I mean, are we really at threat of being sent to jail because our children don’t live up to the system’s healthy expectations, or do you think like me that it is too extreme a threat?

I have on a few occasions sent them to school with a sniffle and quite honestly felt guilty, but what can you do? Someone somewhere has devised this grand plan of attendance percentages, and Mr. or Mrs. Jobs-Worth implements it, giving no thought to the reality that our schools are like public gathering places for germs to latch onto on another and spread the good word so to speak. Am I alone in feeling that this is an issue within the system that needs to be re-addressed? Anyone got any amazing ‘sick’ stories to tell? Or are you a teacher that has a view on this? I would love to hear from your side, too. Do you mind having sick kids in your classes, or would you prefer the parents keep them at home?