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Sick Daze

I put Colum to sleep tonight and tried not to look around at all. Even though my attention was firmly affixed to the new episode of Gossip Girl (such a guilty pleasure), it still felt like my home had been hit by a freakishly localized tornado. And then come under attack by robbers and vandals.

Last week I wrote about the importance of routine, and this week I can testify to the chaos brought about by ditching your routine for five days straight. Colum is fine, of course. Better than ever, in fact. It’s the state of my apartment and my own mental equilibrium that are the main victims here. It was a fever that kept us inside all day Friday. It then kept Colum and Dad home on Saturday (while I was at work). By Sunday the fever had given way to diarrhea (yay!) and a rash-covered back. On Monday morning, Colum’s spirits were returning (if not his appetite), but the rash had spread to his stomach and chest. Our doctor couldn’t squeeze him in for a couple days, but my internet research suggests this is probably a mild case of roseola and nothing to worry about. Still, it’s cold and snowy and he could be contagious, so we stay in. By today I am completely stir crazy. We head over to my parent’s home where I know my brother is recovering from last week’s U of T essay madness. We eat lunch and loll about and nap and snack and then come home and read and eat dinner and pull many, many books off many, many shelves. Looking up from Graham Greene’s The Power And The Glory, Colum says, “No pic-ers.” He then puts that one book neatly back on the shelf and we get ready for bed.

I need my days broken into bite-sized pieces, it seems. If we are doing something in between breakfast and lunch, then tidying up is part of the breakfast routine. When we just hang around, so do the dishes. And so does the laundry and the rest of the mess. A sick boy needs extra attention, though, and that’s excuse enough for me.