And then the little one, who had been chewing on her older sister's water bottle, got the same thing. It was inevitable, the way she mimics Morgan.
I feel completely lost when my children get sick. First, I cancel all my plans with friends. And then I buy a ton of Gatorade and force vast amounts of liquid down their gullets. I bribe them with little toys to force them to drink. If I could administer an IV to them, I would. I'm a Nazi about clear liquids.
And then, when their little heads nod off to sleep, I cry quietly in the shower. It can't be helped. I hate to see them suffer. The other night, Dan told me this sweet conversation he had with Morgan as he tucked her in bed:
Dan: "I wish I had your sore throat instead of you, pumpkin."
Morgan: "I wish neither of us had it. Then we could play."
The whole house is topsy turvy when sickness makes its unwelcome visit. We rest at odd hours. We eat the most random food. I have a propensity to clean things in an effort to lessen the stay of the sickness. And then I eat cookies out of stress. It's a terrible habit.
But this morning, I embraced this bizarre week. I embraced the odd rest hours and vast amounts of television we've been watching. I came to terms with the fact that this is life.
I took the kids to the park. They were cranky and ornery. But eventually the wee one found joy in hucking mulch. And the older one found her smile when her bare skin made squeaking sounds on the slide.
The day probably won't be different from the other sick days, but maybe some good old-fashioned joy will overcome.
