There’s a nasty virus going around. My son has had a high fever on and off since Saturday. 102, 103 temperatures for four days running. What a siege.

The poor guy: he’s tired, listless, and glassy-eyed. His lips are chapped and his nose was bleeding this morning when he woke up.

Fortunately, he’s really pleasant when he’s sick. Lots of pleases, thank yous and I don’t want to bother you. He’s not used to being sick but he does it quite well. But this virus makes him so tired he can’t really do anything but lay in bed and sleep.

In our house, being sick means we take out the wooden tray and the bell. Ring, ring, ring, We serve the sickone in bed. Soup, sandwiches, whatever. Being sick is all about the tray and the bell. And room service. 

I have pleasant memories of being sick as a child: laying on the couch watching daytime television (Leave it to Beaver, Make Room for Daddy, I Love Lucy, etc.). My mother brought me chocolate eclairs, and Matzah Ball Soup from Williams Bar-B-Que on Broadway.

But being sick like this isn’t much fun. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s actually looking forward to going back to school. Well, maybe no. Not that.

In the meantime, recovery is the main thing. Tomorrow we take him to see his doctor. And before that: lots of liquids, Vitamin C, tender loving care and flufffed up pillows.

Yours from Brooklyn,
OTBKB.