Quarantine

Alex has a fever. It’s been hanging around since Sunday afternoon. Almost without thinking I gave Alex a dose of Motrin when he first felt warm. I know better. I know a fever has a job to do, and if I stay out of its way and shelve my neurosis that Alex will have a “convulsion” as my grandma calls it, the fever will kill the virus.

That’s our pediatrician’s theory. He believes the cycle of a virus is much shorter if you don’t treat the fever. Unless of course, it’s frighteningly high or the child is in a lot of pain. I trust Dr. Stoeze. He’s a good egg and he’s been to medical school. I’m a spaz and a political scientist. So, I ignore my urges to pour Motrin down the hatch.

The fever meant Alex would automatically be home from school today. He ran a fever the majority of the day today, so he’ll be home until at least Wednesday. That’s the rule. Brandon thinks it’s silly, but I don’t. I think there’s something to it. If everyone kept their febrile children home, the world would be a healthier place. Or maybe our immune systems would shrivel and everyone would eat dirt at the first sign of a cold.

I set Alex up in our bed. I gave him water, grapes, popsicles, and the remote. Brandon called to check on Alex from Minneapolis and wasn’t thrilled to hear the germs were going to spend the day in our bed. If you ask me, it would be boarder-line abusive to make the poor little guy sit in his room without a television for the entire day. I don’t want Alex and Meredith mingling, so this was the best solution.

I also gave Alex a bell to ring in case he needed anything. Not my smartest move.

Since we were confined to 6685 Braemar for the day, I accomplished much of what I needed to for the week by noon. I cleaned the entire first floor and did seven loads of laundry.

I did not however, change out of my pajamas. When I went out to get the mail at 1:30 p.m.; I momentarily wished I lived in the country where no one was liable to see me in my polka dot pants in the middle of the afternoon.

Meredith spent the day taunting her brother from the hallway and playing with her bevy of American Girl dolls. Boy is she into those. In a sense, they are giant Barbies and Meredith loves Barbies.

I’m on edge about tomorrow. Alex is starting to feel better. Much better. He’s going to be out of bed and looking for something to do. I e-mailed his teacher to see if I can pick up his homework and spelling list, so that ought to keep us arguing all afternoon. Meredith has school, so we’ll at least be leaving the house.

The good news? When I get dressed tomorrow I’ll have clean clothes!