Well, just when we thought we were nearing the end of the Flu Epidemic of 2009, last night Peter’s temp shot up from the 99 degree range to 101.

I have to admit that when he first started complaining about feeling bad, I ignored him. I think I was in the 3rd Stage of the Flu, which is denial. Or is that the 3rd Stage of Grief?


But I finally broke down and took his temp. I nearly cried when I saw 101. That means that he really does have it, and by now we’ve missed the 48 hour window with which to get Tamiflu. So we’re looking at approximately 6 more days of fever for Peter.

And now Brad and I think we might have “a touch of the flu” as well. It’s really the strangest thing. We are exhausted but our symptoms keep coming and going. One moment, we feel sick at our stomachs, the next, we feel hungry. One moment, we are achy all over, the next, we’re feeling okay. We’ve had low-grade fevers on and off again, and a headache.

But other than that, we’re fine! No, really! I don’t have the flu! I’m just…tired! Yeah, that’s it!!!

Seriously, I keep trying to convince myself it’s all psychosomatic and not real. But I have no other explanation for this weird health rollercoaster we seem to be on. The good news is that it’s not really that bad. We can still function and that’s pretty important since we have these kiddos who insist on meals and stuff.

In fact, I took Samuel to his first day of Small Fry Basketball this morning. What a hoot! I wish I had been able to take pics with one hand while helping Samuel learn to dribble with the other but, well, hello! Coordination has never been my special gift.

In fact, when I was little, my dance instructor had a special section just for me. It was called “the back, BACK, row”. It’s not that I didn’t try – I just could never remember which way to turn. Or where to put my arms. Or my feet, really.

Okay, I was a terrible dancer. But I was sure cute in those little costumes! And I had fun, which might have been okay back when I was six, but was no longer enough justification when my parents released copies of the videos for the world to see at my rehearsal dinner. Thanks, Mom & Dad.

No, really, it was all in good fun. I’m just glad I didn’t have any girls. I really can’t imagine having to endure years of watching my poor daughter try to swim against her genetic tide and master the art of turning the same direction as the other girls in her line.

Although, now that I think if it, watching Samuel continually bounce the basketball off his shoe is not all that different. Same lack of coordination, different sport. But it could be worse. I could be watching Samuel in a ballet class full of girls, turning the wrong direction and thinking “That’s just wrong”.

Actually, I would never consent to allowing one of my boys to take dance – not because of the obvious crossing of the gender roles – but because of the humiliation he would have to endure for the rest of his life.

Because if there is anything worse than being the one always turning the wrong way at a dance recital, it is being the only boy in a pink tutu turning the wrong way at the dance recital.