when they wake us

There is nothing quite like waking to the sound of vomit splashing on the floor. We were jolted awake like this today. Who is that? Please let it not be neurological? Grab a towel. Then the sight of a little body, doubled over, wringing itself out. Then feeling the feverish head, their little body at war with the virus.

With Manny's seizures, we have adapted to nights where he has come into our bed and he's next to me, and I wake up trying to figure out if he's in a seizure or if he just wanted to snuggle. (If he's in a seizure he's not talking, his breathing is different, etc.)

We've been visited on by some virus that features vomiting, fevers, head ache, sore throat and the saddest cases of fatigue that I've seen in a long time. E.g. Clara, who, since the womb has been a dancer. Not just a pogo- jump up and swing me dancer. I'm talking Judith Jameson meets Backyardigans with modest Beyonce moves. And this virus has rendered her barely able to listen to music and in the car when I played Gypsy Kings today, she gave me a weak little shoulder-shimmy, sighed, and then looked out the window.

Tuesday was comical. Manny threw up on the bus and Geoff went to go get him. They came home. I co-oped at nursery school. Having sat in on Clara's morning circle, Calliope's teacher told me to come up and check her. She had fallen asleep. I felt her head, and brought her home immediately. Apron still on, I come back to finish co-oping with Clara. Her teacher points out that she is staring off into space. I go get the thermometer, which reads 100.2. At this point, the director and the teachers and mercifully, the other co-opers tell me to go home and take care of my sick kids! One of those days that you had no idea was in store when you woke up that morning.

Today was about keeping kids comfy, playing lots of music, and offering variations on cinnamon toast and an all-you-can sip gatorade bar with straws and umbrellas. I feel like Manny led off the effort to steer the ship back on course. Slightly feverish, he made his way out into the backyard where he swung on the swings and picked blossoms off the peach tree.

At 1pm, I get a call on the house line. It's Benicio's teacher who says, "How sick is everyone there? Cuz I got another one for you!" We drove out to find a diminished Benicio laid out on the office bench. His black hoodie dramatically pulled over his head, ears bright red and eyes glassy. Ask Geoff to do his impression for you-- Benicio's head buried in pillows, moaning. Then, he sits bolt-upright and asks with grave pathos, "I can't take this, I'm in excruciating pain, and the tylenol is worthless!" Completely undone in agony yet together enough to be so articulate.

Geoff and I keep looking at each other, trying to take it in stride. Remembering that thorns and suffering are part of our human plight. That we are not too special to suffer. That we are not promised ease or comfort.