Scary Stuff

This is a very real picture of our entire family at the doctor's office

It's almost Halloween, so let's talk about the scariest thing I can think of. 

Sick kids.

Here are some actual words that I have said in the past.

Anne, circa 2007, mother of one: "Sarah is sick today. Can we plan a playdate for next WEEK sometime?"

This was me being cautious at the time. I took into account that Sarah had a fever and would probably be healthy in a day or two. She would need a couple days to get back into the swing of things and I would want to be certain that before I introduced her back into society and the high life of a one-year-old that she was ABSOLUTELY NOT contagious.

fast forward 11 years

Anne, current day, mother of seven: "Joseph is sick. We won't be able to attend that party we've been planning for months. And we won't see you until next year. April, at the verrrrrrrry earliest. It's been nice knowing you. Throw me a text when you think of it and I will try to respond during my 3am wake up with the baby, who is currently not sick but will be any second now..."

Because

Because

Because

BECAUSE WHEN ONE CHILD GETS SICK IN A LARGE FAMILY, YOU CAN COUNT ON EVERY SINGLE CHILD GETTING SICK.

This is a guarantee and should come stamped on every babe's rear at birth. Every child after child number two should come with a WARNING sign.

Here's how it happens.

Picture this:

Our very sweet and healthy, unassuming family of nine has just made it through another Sunday mass. I feel victorious. Everyone is eating donuts in the car and smearing sprinkles into their nice slacks. We are laughing and joyful and making plans for the upcoming week. The sun is shining and I am on top of the world. I am humming "We Are The Champions" and I look at Matt, completely smitten that we have created this Heaven on Earth with the help of our good God.

Then, a child sneezes. Once. One solitary sneeze.

I feel the reverberation up my spine. 

No. Way.

I look at Matt again. He senses my panic and tells me to calm down. My eyes fire daggers at him as I turn quickly to the back seat to identify the offender. 

"WHO WAS THAT?!?!?!" I yell.

A hand goes up in the third seat.

"I'm fine, Mom!" Joseph shouts over laughter.

Famous Last Words, dude.

I quickly calculate in my head how many places we have been and how many people we have seen in the past 5-7 days. How many church pews could Joseph have touched/licked in that time? I am going through medicine cabinet inventory in my superhero mind. Holy Water, Tylenol, Motrin, Oils, VapoRub, nebulizer meds, wine, cough drops, etc.

12 seconds have passed since the sneeze and I am in 

DEFCON 3.

We pull in the driveway and I am practicing my labor breathing. 

I am doing relaxation techniques. 

As the kids pile out of the van, I remind them, in the most gentle voice (read: drill sergeant pitch and tone) I can muster, to wash their ever-loving hands. 

I know this would seem like overkill to most parents. "Hahahahahah!"they chortle. "Kids get sick. No big deal."

Wellllllllllll, before you judge me and my disposition and fears, walk a mile in my Hazmat suit.

We were literally sick from October to May of last year. Non-stop. Someone either barfing or coughing or fevering or itching or rashing or all of the above at the same time. We have missed family reunions, weddings, church, playdates, football games, doctor's appointments, and school deadlines. 

Here's how it happens.

Let's continue with this particular Joseph example. We walk inside from our Sunday Mass trip home and let's say ALL seven kids actually wash their hands. Like, for real. Scrubbing and soaping and the whole bit for 20 seconds or until they've speed-sung the ABC's three times. Then, I go around Lysoling everything. 

EV-ER-Y-THING.

Then I bleach the bathrooms. 

Then I change the sheets, pillowcases, blankets and remove all stuffed animals from the would-be sick child's bed. I wash those in hot water. I've actually been known to do this twice. 

I wash all dishes for the next 3 days on Sanitary and Hotter-than-Mordor settings. Some of our dishes melt. I don't care. 

After three days of absolute psychosis and disinfecting, I take a small breath. On Day 2, the child started with runny eyes and had a dry cough. Day 3 looks much the same. Maybe we avoided it? The early morning hours of Day 4 bring the child into my bedroom. Between 2-3am is the most probable time for me to see a face about 3 inches from my own, in the dark, waking me out of a sound sleep. And what does this child have to say to me? Is he ok? Bad dream? Sore throat? Wet the bed? As I open my mouth to ask him, he leans forward and...

SNEEZES.

IN MY OPEN MOUTH.

And I die.

And a minute later, still in shock, I die again.

After I die seven deaths, I rouse myself and cry get the child back to bed with a drink of water and a box of tissues. 20 minutes after this, I put said child in the shower for the hot steam treatment, because his small cold has magically morphed into a full-blown respiratory battle. I am up for the remainder of the night because now, I realize, three more children are sneezing in their beds and struggling to sleep. 

Ok ok ok

Even just typing this is giving me the heebie jeebies.

I will spare all the gory details, but this particular sickness lasts about 9 days, per child. Lets say 2-3 children get sick every 6 days. I can't actually do math right now, but if I could I am CERTAIN  I would die again thinking about my life.

At the end of a month, the people at church have now figured that we switched parishes or moved out of town. I don't know what sleep feels like and I haven't actually been prone in my bed for more than 20 anxiety-stricken minutes at a time. 

And then, in an instant, there is a reprieve.

I am certain this is because I have friends who are close to God and begging Him, for me, for just a little break.

I take my break as I often do, LYSOLING THE HOUSE AGAIN AND PANICKING ABOUT THE NEXT SICKNESS THAT WILL HIT OUR HOME AT ANY MOMENT WE MUST NOT REST WE DO NOT QUIT!!!!!!

And often, I am not wrong or disappointed. 

I sat in the playroom watching the kids just yesterday. I wondered what their little brains were thinking and how in the world I am going to get them healthy again in time for the move to Michigan. 

I realized something. I won't be able to get them healthy. I can't. I try as hard as I can but truly have no control. As long as they continue living with one another, in the very tiny personal boundary space they have established amongst themselves, we will always share our sicknesses. It will never stop at 1 or 2.

 It's a family affair.

And It will always terrify me.

 Maybe I can just get them to dress up as germs for Halloween...