The three other humans in my house are sick. Every one of them is sniffling, sneezing, moaning, groaning, and coughing.
We’ve gone through at least 2 boxes of Kleenex, and my son has taken to just throwing them into a weird Mt. St. KIeenex pile next to him in lieu of multiple trips to the garbage can. Boys… Gross!
The hot water kettle just got promoted to MVP status with a constant rotation of hot water for cocoa, tea, and Cup o’ Soup. A lot of tea, and a lot of soup.
They are a mess. And as any good wife and mother would do, I have been doting on them hand and foot, taking temperatures, cleaning up the snot rag piles, getting blankets….
Just kidding. I don’t do that.
I have a strict “Don’t touch me” policy when it comes to sick people. Don’t touch me, my things, the remotes, my pillow, my blankets, the door knobs, the fridge handle, my tootbrush, my glass, my phone, or my food.
Don’t touch mom. The kids know the drill.
From the minute I hear the first sneeze until, well, Spring-don’t come near me if you’re sick. There will be no kisses. I’ll hug you. Maybe. But only after I’ve witnessed you wash your hands and face and/or you change into new clothes.
I will glare at you if you sneeze without covering your nose and mouth. You hear that? Glares! You will get glares. And you will hear some “words” if you cough into your hand instead of the “chicken wing” technique the kids learned in preschool. That one comes with glaring also cuz like—-get it together!
Say what you will but this is the reason THEY are sick, and I am enjoying Sunday football wine. Cuz these fools keep touching each other and each other’s things, and now they’re all sick. It’s like a plague. And as long as they insist on cuddling and breathing all over each other, one of us has to remain safe.
You know how there is a plan for some tragic unexpected event that would take out the top five people in the presidential chain of command? Well it’s like that.
I am “The Designated Survivor.” The one who must remain healthy should everyone else go down. SOMEONE has to be well enough to get supplies, wash the bedding, make the soup and glare at sneeezes.
That someone is mom, and this is my protocol.
- No touching. (Did I mention that on already?)
- Lysol. The doorknobs, the light switches, the toilet seats and flushers, the phones, the iPads, EVERYTHING!
- Sanitize the toothbrushes. You can either soak them in Listerine, or microwave them in a wet paper towel.
- Quarantine. Now granted, it is near impossible to keep a 3-year old quarantined. So it’s almost a reverse quarantine. No one besides me is allowed to sit or lay on my side of the bed, or sit in my chair, or use my blankets. This little sliver of house is mine.
- A Hot Toddy or hot hot spiked cider. Not for the kids of course, put your DCFS dial-finger down. These are for the adults. They are both treatment for him and preventative for me. Never underestimate the power of a good whiskey!
- Bone Broth. If you made and froze any from Thanksgiving dinner. Thaw it and get it going. Otherwise, The Designated Survivor can go buy some.
- Vicks. Feet only. Cover with socks.
- The Medicine Ball. I talked about, read about, and recommended the Starbucks Medicine Ball so many times last week, that I had to go out and get one today. There really is something to the lemony pepperminty finish that makes you feel better!
These nine steps should help you navigate any “at home” epidemic that comes your way.
Now granted I ride public transportation every day into one of those ultra-modern “open work environment” offices, so I am sure that adds another layer of risk. I’ve sat on plenty a DART ride giving death eyes to the guy coughing his way along the 20 mile, 30 minute commute to downtown Dallas.
And there is a special place in hell for the lady who sneezes into her hand, wipes her nose with that hand and then decides she is going to touch everything around her desk with it. “I see you there Barb! With your booger hand! How about you work from home next time.” Shared workspace is really code for Petrie Dish.
I can’t guarantee I won’t get sick- even with all those steps. But if I do get some sort of bug, I’ll pull out protocol rule 10.
The Jesse Ventura approach…
I just really don’t have time to be sick. I really don’t.
That’s all from This Girl Here
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