I will never forget that one year when all three of my children won an award for 100% attendance at school. I wasn’t sure whether to be proud that I’m clearly providing my offspring with a ridiculously healthy environment to grow up in, or ashamed that I’m so strict that the only legitimate reason for staying off school is an inability to walk or a need to be within 10 paces of a toilet at all times*.
*For the record, the truth is somewhere in the middle.
As is custom at the start of a new school term, a particularly nasty cold seems to have worked its ‘magical’ way through our home over the last fortnight.
My son had it first and I’ll admit to barely even noticing that he had an illness. He seemed perfectly capable of lifting a Playstation console, so life pretty much continued as normal.
Then the eldest caught it. True to form, she continued working her 10 hour shifts at the stables, occasionally emitting a cough from the depths of her bedroom. She did opt out of accompanying me to the gym, but that’s nothing unusual.
A few days later, the youngest daughter and I fell prey within hours of each other. Everyone knew about it. The throat of razor blades that was proving to be a real hazard when eating, the blocked nose that was causing a very odd effect to the voice, the tight and tickly chest that was keeping us awake at night.
The symptom competition was gaining momentum as the days went on. I felt so ill that I even spent a few hours cuddled up in bed with this one!
I must admit to being secretly amused by the way that this lurgy has affected each one of us differently; it says a LOT about our personalities. I never for a second thought that I was someone who milks an illness, I certainly don’t enjoy being ill. Maybe I just never get properly ill, or the four of us had different strains of this illness…yes, it must be that.
The husband has yet to succumb. If he does, the strain he catches will be the weaker variety passed on from the first two casualties. Obviously.