Patrick is sick and running a fever of 104. As I spent the morning chasing both Meaghan and Mary Bernadette away from him, I became frustrated. Try as I might to maintain positive thoughts about the healthy children...nagging and illogical ones like these raced through my mind:
'Don't they know he needs to rest? Don't they know how frayed my nerves will be when it's their turn to run high fevers and they need a three-hour trip to the local pediatrician? Pardon me, if I feel the need to make ineffective attempts to keep healthy kids away from already contagious germs that have contaminated our house."
By mid-morning, I was well aware I was fighting a losing battle. And so after the 400th time of telling Mary Bernadette to not walk on top of her older brother whose new bed was a palate I had made on the floor, I couldn't help but laugh as she turned to me in her toddler-like way and gently put her fingers over her lips and whispered "SHHH!" The look on her face? Well it said the obvious...'Don't you know he's sick and sleeping? Duh, Mom.'