When I was a kid, I LOVED getting sick. Especially if I was already at school. I loved going down to the nurse's office, having a legit high temperature, and calling my mom to come pick me up. Yes, I felt like crap. But I also felt awesome, awaiting my imminent rescue from the dullness that is the classroom.
Yesterday morning, the school nurse called. Alexis had a headache, and a temperature of 100.3. I paused.
"So...should I come pick her up?"
I don't know these things. I haven't had experience with sick school-aged children. When are they too sick for school? In addition, fevers have always confused me. How hot is too hot?
I'm sure the nurse was thinking, 'Yes you should pick her up, you idiot. I just told you she has a fever of 100.3."
In any case, I was told to come get her. I was stoked. Mom to the rescue!
"Come on kids! We're going to get Alexis!"
Carter, Elizabeth and I piled into the car and I cheerily sang along to the radio the entire way. It was my turn to play superhero Mom, coming to whisk my daughter away, back home to chicken noodle soup, humidifiers, and cuddling.
The poor dear was pale as pale could be. Once at home, I whipped up the soup. She sipped some of it up, then it was off to bed. I rubbed some peppermint oil on her temples and chest, brought some water, made sure she was all comfy-cozy, and began reading aloud James and the Giant Peach. We read until I couldn't move my mouth anymore without yawning.
It's what I remember my mom doing: everything she could to make me feel loved and taken care of.
Sure, I was overdoing it. But I'm a mom. That's my job.
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