Quarantine Us, Please

Since the school year started at the end of August, we have had maybe three weeks of health. Three weeks where everyone has been healthy at the same time. Yep, three whole weeks of health. (There were some weeks at Christmas, but they don’t count because during those weeks Luke and Ariel were recouping from surgery.)

We’ve had weird viruses: multiple versions of the cold, gastrointestinal viruses, chicken pox, etc. We even had a really weird virus, which led to bizarre itchy rashes. I thought it was from something that Matt caught during the period of his zombie abduction, but it turned out to be a viral exanthum, i.e. a strange rash caused by a virus. (Aren’t you glad that you now know the medical term for “a strange rash caused by a virus”?)

It’s gotten so bad the Matt and Jake’s piano teacher now expects one or both of the boys to be sick on lessons day. Yesterday she told me that she’s beginning to think there’s something seriously wrong at our home. Maybe molds.

I think our immune systems are on strike because of overuse and abuse. I bet you didn’t know that immune systems are unionized. See, this blog is educational. Anyway, I suspect our immune system overuse is the university’s fault. People go to class sick. I know Luke will be going to class sick today. (He has an exam in P-Chem—the physics of chemistry.) And he’ll be exposing everyone there. It was even worse last semester when Jake and Ariel’s profs wanted them to come to class even though they had chicken pox. One pediatrician called it “Spreading immunity to the community.” Hmmm. I call it spreading sickness. But I’m just a mom, so why quibble over words?

Of course, Luke, Ariel I aren’t the only sick kids in class. So when they go to class, they pick up germs from other sick kids who are in class and then everyone brings them home to share with their family/roommates. And the cycle begins again.

A while back, I decided to take action. I’ve tried isolation—stay in that room with your germs. I’ve tried rest—do not move out of that bed, you don’t need to check your email or Facebook. I’ve tried Lysol spray, which is supposed to kill viruses, on every knob and flat surface. (Please no comments on the fact that viruses aren’t really alive.) I’ve tried vitamin C. If it weren’t too cold, I’d open all the doors and windows of the house and let the wind blow through—fumigation. I remember that in some old novels they’d talk about smoking the house after a lot of people had been sick in the home. Does anyone know what that was? Was it legit? Or was it then Shakespearian equivalent of room deodorizer to get rid of the sick smell? (Smoking a room is actually mentioned in Much Ado About Nothing.)

At any rate, since all my anti-sickness measures have failed, it’s time for draconian action. Does someone out there work for the public health department? You could quarantine us, and let us get to the point where we are all healthy at the same time. That would be cool. And maybe that would end this cycle.

If not, I’m going to seriously look into that smoking the house thing.

Insanity Chez Keller

Luke and Jacob have the stomach flu. And that’s sad for them—they curl up under blankets, eat saltines, and try to get to the toilet “on time.” You’d think that Luke and Jake would be my biggest hassle. They’re not. It’s Matt and Ariel. They are obsessed with not getting the flu.

Once the first puke happened, Ar and Matt grabbed my dust masks (I’m horribly allergic to dust) and slapped them over their noses and mouths. Then, Matt proceeded to clean the entire house, including books and the dust masks, with Lysol wipes. He’s a walking advertisement for virus-killing. He even covered his face with the wipes.

When Luke walked through the living room to get from the master bedroom to his bedroom, Ariel and Matt started screaming, and Matt attacked Luke with (you guessed it) Lysol wipes. Luke retaliated by breathing on the computer keys. It took Matt quite a while to clean each and every key.

Matt will no longer use the boys’ bathroom—he has to use ours. Ariel has told the boys to hold their breath when they walk through her room. (You have to go through Ariel’s room to get to the master bedroom.) She had banished them from the room earlier—they had to walk by way of the deck, but a nasty thunderstorm precluded her arrangements.

Matt has made plans to move a trundle from Ariel’s room into the living room so he doesn’t have to breathe the same air that Jacob does (they share a room).

Ariel’s excuse is that she has a Calculus 2 exam tomorrow. I don’t know why she’s so concerned—I’ve saved one of those airsickness bags. She can take it with her and puke her way through the test.

Matt says he just hates vomiting. Before I realized what he was doing, he ingested 2300 % of the recommended daily dose of vitamin C. Now I’m pushing fluids into him, too.

Yep. Insanity reigns chez Keller. Y’all pray for me.


Here are pictures.

Maybe I Don't Want A Castle

On Saturday, we’re leaving for vacation in Orlando. That means that in the near future (tonight) I have to begin packing. Since the kids are 18, nearly 17, 14, and 12, you’d think I’d be set. I pack my stuff and they pack theirs. The problem is we’ve done that before. Some people end up with no pajamas or no socks or no underwear—this is bad. So, they make piles, and I inspect and approve.

Orlando should be perfect. Too early for nasty heat, low 80s is just fine. Too early for bugs. I was in Florida a couple of times when I was a young teen and the one thing I remember was the bugs—winged, flying, biting vermin-ish insects.

Florida sounded lovely until I heard about The Castle. There’s a famous writer (NYT bestselling writer—Ally Carter) who’s going on vacation at the same time we are. Except she’s going to a castle. She and her writing friends are renting a castle. In Ireland. I want to go to a castle too. Granted I am very thankful for my husband and four children and would never change places with her (she’s single). Though I do occasionally covet her bestseller author status—the closest I get to that is my faithful blog readers (thank you). But I think I could do the castle thing too.

Ally’s been blogging about buying for her trip—“Ooo these socks would be so great for the castle.” I’ve been thinking, “Ooo, how much underwear does each family member need, and do I need to buy more.” Ally says, “We have to make cupcakes in the castle.” Hold the boat! Why would anyone want to bake cupcakes in a castle? I’d be buying chocolate and saying, “Oh, this Lindt extra dark chocolate with pear and almonds will taste so good in front of a roaring hearth fire in the castle! And I need that Lindt E.D. intense orange as well for sustenance when I don’t want to get out of the feather bed in the morning.”

I do think there could be one caveat to the whole Irish castle thing. There’s a possibility that is especially frightening to me. What if, being this is Ireland and all, I caught the James Joyce progressive incoherency disorder?! Not many people know of the disease. It’s a particularly virulent virus named after the writer who first contracted the disease. It leaves the infected writer unable to write antecedents for pronouns (A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man). As the disease develops, it leaves the writer unable to craft a story that makes any sense at all. If you don't believe me, pick up The Dubliners.

Currently, there’s no immunization for the virus. Maybe I don’t want to vacation in a castle. Orlando sounds really good—as long as there aren’t any bugs.