Dripping Noses and Broken Hearts

The new year is here, and tis the season for colds and flu. I was smug, I admit it; my family had escaped unharmed, and I was patting myself on the back. “It’s all the healthy meals I’ve been cooking,” I said to myself, “who knew fish sticks and nachos were super foods?” But before I could break out the champagne, last week I got the dreaded phone call from Molly’s school:

“Mrs. Hunter? Molly’s been coughing quite a lot, and she says her throat hurts. Are you able to pick her up early?” The secretary was brisk and efficient. She had sick kids to punt out of class and was militaristic in her approach.

“What? Oh no. Umm, okay, I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I replied. Andy, my two-year-old, had just woken up from his nap, so I got him dressed and out the door in record time, dust bunnies tumbling in our wake. On the drive to Molly’s school, I made a mental list of tried-and-true home remedies: chicken soup, orange juice, warm socks, pretzels, and ginger ale. Pulling into the school’s parking lot, I lucked into the best spot by the front door, grabbed Andy, and rushed inside. My heart broke as I saw Molly standing by the office, her head down, her too-big backpack sliding off her shoulders.

“Hey sweetie! How are you feeling?” I asked.

“Bad,” she replied softly. (Oof, she got me right in the solar plexus with that one.)

“Let’s go home, okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered.

Both kids were whisked into the car and buckled up. I cursed myself on the ride home. How could I not have noticed Molly was sick? She seemed fine this morning! She was happy! We pulled into our driveway while I continued self-flagellating. I unbuckled everyone, corralled the kids and the dog (the dog had come with us) into the house.

I wasn’t aware of the healing properties of a Dodge Grand Caravan, because in the eight-minute ride from school Molly made a miraculous recovery. Gone were the downcast eyes and slumped shoulders; she was racing up and down the hall and chattering away.

“Can I watch tv?” she asked excitedly.

“If you’re sick, you should go rest in bed,” I replied, frowning.

“But I can rest in front of the tv, my throat won’t hurt if I’m watching tv,” she said. Taking my hesitation for agreement, she zoomed up the stairs and into the living room. Why did I get the feeling I’d been had?

I don’t doubt that Molly was sick; she did have a noisy (if theatrical) cough, and she did sound congested. “Sweetie,” I started, “it’s important to tell the truth, right? If you say you’re sick, I’ll believe you, but it’s important to tell me how you really feel, okay?”

“Yes, mom,” she replied, eyes glued to the screen.

I don’t know how to feel about this episode. Maybe Molly was feeling poorly, but maybe she just didn’t want to be at school – something I can relate to. Maybe this was more of a mental health break rather than an “I’m-dripping-mucous-everywhere-and-my-eyes-are-going-to-explode” type of thing. Whatever the case, I kept Molly home for the rest of the week, feeding her chicken soup and pretzels, along with the occasional sip of ginger ale. Eventually, she sounded much better, and was ready to go back to school. Just as I was breathing a sigh of relief, Andy started hacking and coughing. “Quick!” I thought to myself, “get him into the minivan! His cold will disappear!” It worked last time, didn’t it?