Quinn recovering...

From the instant of their arrival to the moment they depart for college and beyond, kids get sick.  For years, we fought a long and losing war against boogers, projectile vomiting, unexplained temperature spikes, ear infections, chicken pox and explosive, well, you get the idea. The pre-school years, so adorable in other ways, were a horror show in this regard.

When you’re a foot soldier in that war, it pays to know the territory, so I became, along with every other mother I know, an expert in the myriad viruses and bugs that were wreaking havoc in our children.


The other night, I went to a party solo.  Sam stayed home.  When our friends (many of whom still have kids at home) asked after him, I said, “He’s got a cold. I think he might be faking.”

Well, maybe not faking exactly.  Exaggerating.  Why the distrust?  Well, for starters, the man never gets sick.  I don’t even remember the last time he had a cold.  And there was something else, something I couldn’t put my finger on, that led me to doubt his story.

“Oh, no,” our friends nodded sympathetically. “There’s a terrible one going around.”

What?!!?, I thought.  There’s a cold going around and I DON’T KNOW ABOUT IT?

Disoriented, I literally wondered if I had been gone, travelling somewhere, when this particular bug arrived.

But of course I hadn’t gone anywhere; the chicks had.

I had doubted Sam because his illness made no sense to me. How could he have a cold when there was no one in the nest for him to catch it from?

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