Beware of Flying Objects

Dear Zen Mother,

Now that the cold air has settled in, my children come home with a variety of sniffles and coughs. Should I keep them home from school?

Kim from Newburyport

Dear Kim,

While sniffles and coughs are irksome, they are hardly anything to worry about, and there is certainly no need to keep your children home from school. In time your children’s immune systems will catch up with the rest of us, able to withstand a Level Five Hurricane sneeze from the guy sitting next to you on the commuter rail. But if you do decide to keep your children home from school, a word (or more) of caution:

The day will start out like any other day. You scream at the kids to get out of bed, take a shower, scream at the dogs to get off the bed, and head downstairs. At breakfast you realize one of your kids is missing from the table. You go to find him; he is in bed.

You place the back of your hand to his cheeks. They are the color of cotton candy, flushed with warmth (a fever, you fear). He looks at you with enormous blue eyes (have they always been blue? You are not sure), coughs a few times, and asks you a simple question: “Mommy, may I have a tissue?” You nod your head, kissing his forehead. You reach over for a tissue and help your little one blow his little kitten nose. He is sick. He needs to stay home from school so you can take care of him.

You walk downstairs to call the school. You are Clara Barton, Wonder Woman and Mama Bear all rolled into one. You are Omnipotent Caregiver. You kick the other children out the door, telling them they can walk to school. “But, Mom!” they whine. You are undeterred. There is a sick child who needs you.

But somewhere between calling the school nurse and walking back upstairs, something changes – a barely perceptible shift in the atmosphere, a drop in temperature, perhaps. You open the door to your son’s room and he is no longer in bed. From up in the corner, he is laughing and throwing Beanie Babies at your head. You shut the door in a panic and, as you stand in the hallway, you ask yourself two questions: How did he recover so quickly? And, when did he learn to fly?

You brace yourself and walk back in the room but he is gone. “Sweetie, little angel, munchkin, kitten nose, where are you?”

An evil laugh breaks out from downstairs; you hear popcorn cooking in the microwave.

“Sugarpop, honey-bunny, snuggle-bear,” you say as you slowly enter the kitchen. “If you’re feeling better maybe you should go to…” But you stop talking at the shock of chocolate pudding hitting you square in the face. He flies past you and heads for the television.

You retreat and grab the Children’s Hospital Guide to Pediatric Illness, preparing to swat your child down with it the next time he swoops by.

At the end of the day, your husband “the doctor” comes home from work, and miraculously, your son is back in bed, coughing and sneezing.

“Do you think he should stay home tomorrow?” the thoughtful father asks after giving his son some medicine.

You look around your house. There are granola bars smashed into the couch and apple juice dripping from the chandelier. The dog’s fur has been shaved on one side. “He’s well enough to go to school,” you say. You are no fool.