Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Dribble

Ugh.

My daughter went to school yesterday. She wasn't 100% better but she really wanted to go. The teacher gave me that, "ooh I dunno" look when I came to pick her up though. I was well aware that would happen so I had to deliberately write a note explaining my decision to send her to school in the first place. It's that thing where if you don't do that you may seem like a mix between an uncaring and clueless parent. So I had to write that she's not contagious or anything like that - but she does sound appalling. And that I'd spent a lot of time weighing up the pros and cons of the whole thing (read peer-reviewed medical journals and all that) And if she starts to fade I'm a 3 minute drive away. I almost considered actually writing, "see - I'm not a bad parent." But I didn't do that. Still - she came home - begged to put on her ridiculous Onesie winter pajamas and collapsed in exhaustion at 5.45. Slept right through until this morning.

More importantly for my daughter is that there's something called Spirit Week going on. Which basically means dressing up in weird stuff each day and eating things parent's would pretend they don't really give their children to eat. So yesterday it was Dress Up Like Your Teacher day - and then they all ate Lucky Charms and marshmallows for no reason in the afternoon while watching DVDs. Today is Shorts And T Shirt Day. Which - considering it's snowing - means wearing them over winter clothes. Tomorrow is a Valentines thing. That's the real reason my daughter - in her mind - needs to be in school. Holidays are her favorite thing on earth and wanted to be at school lest she miss making Valentines-related crafts for her mother and I (still creepy) friends. Then Friday everyone - including the teachers - wear Pajamas. Which is both demented and socially awkward. Mostly because you can tell that the entire thing was concocted by a male administrator somewhere in the disctrict just so he could get the hot art teacher to come to school in bugger all.

I have the top-end of my nasty cold. I'm enjoying how I refuse to mope around though. But I couldn't even make the gym this morning because I can feel my lungs in my chest rattling that bitumen-mucus around in there. I actually woke myself up at 3.30 this morning (NyQuil swirling through my veins) because in my dream I could hear some sort of zoological beast grunting. Turned out it was me. My son has pretty much shrugged off his own cold. Still leaking clear snot mildly. I actually worked on him before he got this cold. The best protection - according to some good friends of mine - against which is a good chug of 12 Year single malt whiskey. My son seemed unimpressed with the notion of having a stab at his mother's ,"Old Man Happy Juice". But he was iffy all morning and in spite of me giving him three shots he seemed out of it this afternoon. This doctoring stuff is harder than it looks. My wife has succumbed to the cold, though. Which pretty much means she's winnowed her work day down to just a bare minimum of 11 hours due to lethargy.

Anyhoo - I'm off to pick out which shorts and t-shirt I'm going to put on to pick up my daughter later.


No comments:

Post a Comment