My Sweet Little Girls
You know those flus that come on strong with a fever that sends waves of chills across your body so strong that you crawl to your closet and put on every sweater, jacket, glove, hat, and poncho you can find, then turn up the heat and crawl into bed but still can't stop shivering? I hadn't had one since the 80's, I think, so I was due.
It got me last week.
It hit me at about 5:00 pm. I had to pick up my younger daughter from soccer practice at 5:30, and take my older daughter to a meeting of host families for exchange students at 6:00 pm. (We don't think our estrogen level is sufficiently high around here, so we're importing more from Germany. How do you say, "my feelings" in German, anybody know?)
Missus Wife had just left with her horsie friends to see an exhibition of the Lipizzaner stallions that was being held in New Hampshire, and her parting words had been, "Are you sure you feel OK?"
Tough guy that I am, my response had been, "Phhhht!"
That had been 30 minutes ago. Now that the virus had me by the diaphram, I had to climb in the car and drive 15 miles to pick up the girls and then attend a meeting where they were going to repeat what they had already written down in the information packet, and give the other parents an opportunity to ask questions that had already been answered in the information packet and repeated by the speaker. I live for these events.
As I drove through the winding two lanes of New England the chills hit me with pounding regularity, so I girded my loins by calling out for my mommie. Needless to say, this behavior disturbed my older daughter, who had never seen me this sick. But she kept her fears to herself until we picked up her sister.
By the time I reached the place where the exchange student meeting was going to take place, I'd done my fair share of shivering, moaning, groaning, wringing of scalp, and begging for divine intervention in dead languages, so they were both a little worried. I could tell because they were strangely quiet.
I did not have to tell them that I would wait for them in the car. They'd kinda figured that out and were most likely relieved that they would not have to walk into the classroom trailing their Dad in the throes of demonic possession. As Missus Wife and I have trained them to do in an emergency, they began to consider their options.
"How are we going to get Dad home if he dies," Grace asked, opening the front door of the Jeep.
"You'll drive us," Beth said, getting out of the rear door.
"But I only have a permit, and it requires the presence of an adult in the car," Grace said.
Beth thought for a moment, then closed the door. I heard it through the window I'd left half open so I could get some fresh air. "A cadaver still counts as an adult, doesnt' it?"
It got me last week.
It hit me at about 5:00 pm. I had to pick up my younger daughter from soccer practice at 5:30, and take my older daughter to a meeting of host families for exchange students at 6:00 pm. (We don't think our estrogen level is sufficiently high around here, so we're importing more from Germany. How do you say, "my feelings" in German, anybody know?)
Missus Wife had just left with her horsie friends to see an exhibition of the Lipizzaner stallions that was being held in New Hampshire, and her parting words had been, "Are you sure you feel OK?"
Tough guy that I am, my response had been, "Phhhht!"
That had been 30 minutes ago. Now that the virus had me by the diaphram, I had to climb in the car and drive 15 miles to pick up the girls and then attend a meeting where they were going to repeat what they had already written down in the information packet, and give the other parents an opportunity to ask questions that had already been answered in the information packet and repeated by the speaker. I live for these events.
As I drove through the winding two lanes of New England the chills hit me with pounding regularity, so I girded my loins by calling out for my mommie. Needless to say, this behavior disturbed my older daughter, who had never seen me this sick. But she kept her fears to herself until we picked up her sister.
By the time I reached the place where the exchange student meeting was going to take place, I'd done my fair share of shivering, moaning, groaning, wringing of scalp, and begging for divine intervention in dead languages, so they were both a little worried. I could tell because they were strangely quiet.
I did not have to tell them that I would wait for them in the car. They'd kinda figured that out and were most likely relieved that they would not have to walk into the classroom trailing their Dad in the throes of demonic possession. As Missus Wife and I have trained them to do in an emergency, they began to consider their options.
"How are we going to get Dad home if he dies," Grace asked, opening the front door of the Jeep.
"You'll drive us," Beth said, getting out of the rear door.
"But I only have a permit, and it requires the presence of an adult in the car," Grace said.
Beth thought for a moment, then closed the door. I heard it through the window I'd left half open so I could get some fresh air. "A cadaver still counts as an adult, doesnt' it?"
