My teenagers have learned my weaknesses and know how to ambush me first thing in the morning, when I’m asleep, because they know that’s when I’m at my most vulnerable.
“Mum, I have a temperature and my glands are up and I feel really contagious…can I stay home from school today?”
I am a train wreck , lying there in the tangle of sheets and they know it.
My brain doesn’t even comprehend the words. All I know is that somebody is disturbing my sleep…the sleep that I have just fallen INTO after a long night of trying, and fighting – the torture and torment of a chronic insomniac cursed with the sleeping partner from hell.
“Mhhwwhhatttyyeeahhh.” I say.
And that’s it, done and dusted. They hear the consent part in the mumble and run away happily until I drag myself out of bed to check on them, and the time, but it’s too late, they’ve missed the school bus and I realize I’ve just been had – again.
When my son started high school the first place he found was sick bay.
I can’t tell you the amount of phone calls I got from school in the first term with the nurse informing me that my son was “not well” lying there in sick bay.
It started to get irritating and I became less and less sympathetic.
“He’s having you on.” I would bluntly say to the nurse, who I could tell was thinking I was the most horrible, uncaring parent in the world.
She doesn’t LIVE with my children.
I know when they are lying. (When their lips are moving.)
One such incident had me amused, after my thirteen year old son had come home “sick”.
They always lay it on so thick, you know…
He’s holding his head in one hand, mouth all droopy and sad, barely able to speak.
“I had to go to sick bay today because I had a reaaaally bad migration.” He tells me.
“A migration? Gee that’s pretty serious.” I said.
“Yeah, in assembly I had to tell the deputy principle that I had a migration so they sent me to sick bay.”
Well, I guess he was granted refugee status….from school at least.
I used to be a nurse, years ago, so my kids are pretty much at a disadvantage because I’m pretty cluey when it comes to faking it.
I know all the tricks and I can feel a temperature with my bare hand.
No use trying to run the thermometer under hot water and then show me.
And I need visual evidence of an “upset stomach.” Flushed is non admissible.
Sick kids, vomit, diarrhea, all those kinds of things I can handle, but I don’t deal with blood or broken bones well.
This was the last broken bone my son presented us with. (Boys are exceptionally good at it.)
One time, as it happened – on “Australia day”, my son came walking in holding his head – blood everywhere running down the back of his shirt.
“I got hit in the head by a boomerang.” He said.
It didn’t even occur to me at the time how ironic the injury was, nor did I even question the boomerang…all I knew was there was a LOT of blood and I didn’t want to see what was causing it so I applied pressure with a handful of toilet paper over the bloodiest spot on his head and took him next door to my neighbor.
“I can’t look.” I said.
“Tell me if it’s an ambulance job or something less serious.”
It was a “glue him back together” job, thankfully.
Parents should be sent home from hospital with a lifetime supply of this glue – especially if they have boys.
Heck it would come in handy for my sixteen year old daughter – glue her lips shut to prevent injury to US.
Lord above, the talking she does.
And when she’s ‘not feeling well” we get to hear a minute by minute update of exactly how sore her throat is, the exact location of pain, how big the glob of phlegm she just hacked up was, how much snot she just blew into fifteen tissues…oh it goes on and on.
Worse than the “man flu” – and I didn’t think THAT was possible.
The other day she came home and I was in the middle of writing.
Her mouth opened as she began a synopsis of that day’s head cold status but I stopped her abruptly.
“I’m writing. I will give you sympathy when I have finished.”
I’m sorry, but *I* never get any sympathy!
The only time I can ever remember anyone being kind to me when I was sick was when I was suffering from a terrible gastrointestinal bug.
I was too weak to even get out of bed. My husband was at work.
I had called out to my older daughters asking for a glass of water….no response.
Eventually my five year old son wandered in.
“Please….do you think you could get mummy a drink of water?”
Dutifully he went off to the kitchen and returned a while later with a half full glass of water.
It was only when I lifted my head from the pillow and went to reach for the glass that I noticed the liquid looking suspiciously cloudy.
I was “almost” going to drink it anyway but something stopped me.
Questioning my son he told me he put some “medicine in it” to make me feel better.
Dragging myself out of bed I went to investigate.
Turns out my son had climbed up the kitchen counter, onto the bench top, found his way right up high, (really don’t know how he managed it) into the highest cabinet where I kept the medicines and had somehow in the far reaches of it found a very old packet of VALIUM tablets and dumped them into the water – for “mummy”.
Don’t trust ‘em!
They’ll try to kill you at every opportunity!
My son is home “sick” today.
He had his vaccinations at school the other day.
The tetanus shot arm is a bit swollen and I know he’s feeling a bit off but I was ambushed again this morning while in train wreck mode.
He told me earlier his arm was ‘pulsating” and his head is “throbbing”. (At least his vocabulary is getting a bit of a work out.)
I just went upstairs to check to see if he’s still alive and all I could smell was a burning smell. (Liar liar pants on fire -see.)
He’s in his man cave playing the play station.
“What did you burn?” I ask the dark shape on the bed.
“Wheat pillow.” He says.
“Where have you put the wheat pillow?” I ask…thinking heat on a sore arm is probably not good. (I told him “frozen peas!”.)
“I’m sitting on it.” He says.
“My bum is cold.”
I should check for pressure sores.