February is Upon Us

Beren deMotier * writer * artist * human

February is Upon Us

February, at our house, is like some literally “sick” prime time television game show- will the adults emerge with full use of their faculties after four weeks stuck in the house with snotty kids, rainy weather, and nothing exciting out on DVD?

Basically, this is my nervous breakdown season. Every year it is the same- we begin a marathon of holidays, birthdays and days off from school culminating in a back to back birthday extravaganza at the beginning of February. All while going in and out of flus, colds, etc. though after getting the flu-mist this year there was less of an onslaught.

We knew this was coming. We’d done pretty well up to mid-Jan- kept our sense of humor, drank our calcium/D-vitamin orange juice and had plenty of Sudafed on hand. But knowing that at any moment I could be housebound for six weeks (like last year), I made a bold move and repainted half the interior of our home in cheery colors; apple green, sky blue and Martha Stewart’s Pale Naples Yellow. So that even though we’d be sick, we wouldn’t be depressed out of our minds as well.

We’re not the only family we know who’s into color therapy. After all, we live in a climate that shouts, “Gray! Gray! Gray!” For eight months of the year. Friends of ours put in an orange and yellow floor, and purple counters in their kitchen, just to get a shot of positive energy first thing in the day, and went on to paint every room in the house something bold, fun and invigorating.

We still have a few rooms left to paint (Celery green? Cornflower blue? Clover pink?), but we’re paused on account of illness. This is day 18 of our number one son’s illness. At thirteen, his immune system should be stronger, but it isn’t. Our daughter joined him on the couch this week. She is now almost up to last year’s record low attendance record (24 days absent), and I’m wondering when the truant office is going to come calling to find out what’s really keeping her home!

Thank God she’s smart.

The two year old got the crud too, but nothing slows him down. It was just a race to catch him with Kleenex before he shared his cold with the couch, the walls, his other mother’s pants, and the world.

Shopping for cold meds has become something out a sit-com for us. First of all, when I hit the cold meds aisle, it is literally stripped bare of actual medicine. It is lined with mere photocopies of relief, because the methamphetamine addicts buy the meds to make crystal meth, so I must present myself at the pharmacy counter with identification and reasonable proof that I’m not in the drug business (because I look Oh-so-dangerous in my t-shirt with snot on the shoulder), before I can make it safely home with something to keep myself and the youngsters productive, or at least ease their suffering.

Then, with the age disparity among our kids, when I get home with the bag of goodies, there are the adults meds, then the meds to get the teen to sleep through his stuffiness, then the easy to swallow dissolving tabs for the ten year old who throws a drama fit every time you come near her with a pill, and the paper-like translucent purple square for the two year old to put on his tongue, which makes me feel like I’m feeding windowpane acid to my toddler.

The kids naturally don’t understand why I get so grumpy when they’re home sick. They’re watching movies, eating crackers, and wearing their pajamas all day, when they’re not so out of it that days pass without them noticing. Me, I think of all the errands I could run, places we could walk, or people we could see, if only we weren’t contagious as heck. It’s isolating enough to be a stay-at-home mom, but at least usually that means I’m not staying at home, but running all over town and getting some social contact. When they’re sick, I feel like a nanny hired to help in an isolated house in a gothic novel, all shadows and pelting rain at the windows, and not a friendly face to be seen.

OK, maybe I need to get out more often.

But really, it’s gotten to the point where parts of our extended family avoid us during the winter months, because we’ve always got something nasty. By the time late spring rolls around, we’re usually welcome again. Some of our friends without kids ask us for a health update before coming over, because in the normal course of life, they might not get sick all year, until they visit us.

But there is hope. The sun is shining uncharacteristically strong for a February day, the plants are budding, and the tissues are disappearing at a slower rate. While the blaze of sun may be, as my cynical teen tells me “A sign of global warming,” today it is very welcome. After all, nothing kills germs like a little sunshine.