Toots’s cure for the flu. It’s important that the green cylinder be placed ONLY on the left foot, second piggy from the big toe. Also, the plastic eyeball MUST be affixed firmly to the left shin. Not the knee. The shin. Furthermore, be sure to use only pink and orange Bendaroos for the criss-cross. Needs to be positioned exactly one-and-a-half inch above the eyeball. The eggshell? Doesn’t have to be purple. That was for display purposes only. But must be filled with pixie dust and stay between the legs for at least five minutes.
Today I’m that rare combination of tired, over stimulated, restless, and greasy. The girls have been sick nearly all week and it was a roller coaster, especially with Toots. Yesterday, after a brief recovery period, she took a scary turn for the worse, and I silently panicked as I watched her wan face grow more pale, the eye circles darken, and her spirit weaken. I’d never seen her so quiet and worn out. And I’m even counting the days when she was a newborn.
I’ve no idea if she actually had swine flu, but she certainly showed the symptoms, capping the spectacular flu extravaganza with a voluminous display of vomit and diarrhea last night. My biologist friend told me that the virus worked its way out her body, starting with one end and exiting the other, and I liked that. It certainly seemed to be true. Even so, my fingers are crossed that it’s all over and done.
Booger hasn’t suffered the same intensity of symptoms, thank heavens. I couldn’t bear to see her three-year-old body buckle under the weight of such sickness. Toots’ state nearly undid me. To the point where the ever stable Rock begged me to stop saying “I’m so worried…,” while looking off into the middle distance and visualizing the great flu epidemic of 1918, because I was thrusting him into a panic state, and nobody wants a hysterical Rock.
At the same time, he and I succumbed to stress, him adopting a dictatorial tone (Can you get me that barf bag? NOW????!!!!) and me getting all hurt and pissy. I even told him that I don’t want him around in a crisis or be my partner in the Amazing Race because all he’d do is yell at me. So I’m sorry about that. Really. I’ve always been too sensitive.
…Which is probably why I’m on edge now. Yesterday, I ran out of shampoo because I haven’t left the house in three days to shop, so I washed my hair with Irish Spring, an act not nearly as refreshing as it sounds. Also, we’ve all eaten untold amounts of pizza and Jimmy Dean sausage, giving rise to unpleasant feelings of increased body oil production. Then there’s the Disney Princess movies. Playing in the background. Playing in the background. Playing in the background. I’m one bird tweet or mermaid splash away from dunking my head in the unwashed, poo-riddled laundry.
Still. Right now, the girls are camped out on top of the coffee table, playing War, and yelling Uncle. A sight quite unlike the last few days. So I’m just going to open the blinds and air things out.
After all, it’s a beautiful day out there.