When I picked up my daughter from kindergarten at 11:47 a.m., she clutched her head and said, “I don’t feel good.” She went straight up to her bed after school–a sure sign of doom–and stayed up there a few hours, finally coming downstairs with flushed cheeks to report that she still didn’t feel good. They she crawled onto the couch where she huddled under a blanket for a few more hours, insisting that she felt FINE and that she wanted to go to McDonalds and could she please call her friend JUSTIN because she was ready to PLAY.
She felt a little feverish. Little known fact: I don’t own a thermometer. I trust my hands to tell me the severity of a fever. Plus, I believe that fevers are a sign the body is fighting off infection, so I don’t panic. She felt a little warm, but–as I said on my Twitter account–she was not oinking, so I figured she doesn’t have the Swine Flu.
Just call me Dr. Mel. Just don’t call me past midnight. Or on weekends. I’m too busy not cleaning my house and not ironing pants to talk right now.
(Anybody besides me dying to get on a plane and go somewhere, anywhere? Why am I the only person who is stuck at home for endless weeks and months?)