November 24 – “Holiday fever … for real”

Aren’t kids great little creatures when they get sick?  Cailyn spent the night with us last night, and around about 8:30 she and I were sitting on the couch, snuggling and watching the Dallas Cowboys football game.  I noticed she was doing her best to get closer and closer, and even had a blanket over her.  She was obviously sleepy, but Chris took one close look at her, did that whole Mom thing where she they put the back of their hand on the kid’s forehead and know instantly that they have a fever.  I never have been able to do that.  But Chris is kind, so she included me in her discovery by asking if I thought Cailyn felt hot.  Of course she felt hot.  We had been snuggling together under a blanket.  I was hot, too.  But I dutifully and gently placed my hand on her head and announced my agreement, “I guess she is.”  And with that agreement, that dual pronouncement, if there was ever any doubt in her mind, it was completely dispelled.  She was sick.  It was as if we had given her permission to suddenly develop every symptom of illness she had ever had or heard about or seen in her Mommy and Daddy.  Yes, she was hot.  And her head hurt “really bad.”  Oh, and her stomach hurt, too.  And we all know what that means … “I might throw up.”  I guess there is something rather final about throwing up.  It’s not like a fever that may or may not be there (unless, of course, someone makes you cram one of those glass things under your tongue.  Who puts anything under his tongue, anyway?  Besides, if the adult leave the room long enough, you can stick that permomether under the covers and rub the business end against the sheet and make it get really hot, then stick it back in your mouth quickly.  Gotta be careful you don’t do it too long, though.  Not even a dog can survive a temp of 110.  Oh, wait. I think I digress a bit here.  Well, a lot.  Not that I ever did anything like that when I was a kid, you know.  Besides, this is Thanksgiving week.  No school anyway).  Oh, no.  Vomit provides tangible evidence that something is clearly wrong and there is no way school can happen today. 

So Cailyn brought out all the guns.  Fever, “maybe vomit” (thankfully she never followed through on that one, or I would have joined her), headache, “Will you text my Daddy and tell him I don’t feel good?”  Of course good ol’ Nani knew just what to do.  Rather than get Mom and Dad all worried since both had to go to work the next day, she brought over some trusty children’s Tylenol and the three of us snuggled until the Giants went ahead with about three minutes left in the game.  I understand the Cowboys put together a miracle drive and came back to win, though.  Sorry I missed that one. 

She and Chris headed back on to bed while I turned out the lights and locked up the house.  When I got done with my chores and came into the bedroom, Chris was in the bathroom getting ready for bed and Cailyn was hunkered down, covers over her head.  I remember thinking, “poor thing.”  But this was Nathan’s daughter, after all.  There was something unusual going on under there.  I heard noises, so I inched just a bit closer and heard, “Will you tell Mommy I have a headache?”  Ah, so she talked Chris into calling her Daddy after all.  I chuckled and went into the bathroom with Chris, all ready to tease her a bit about giving in and allowing “The Phone Call.”  But she didn’t allow it.  Didn’t even know what I was talking about.  Sneaky little Nathan’s-daughter Cailyn had pillaged Chris’ phone and made the call on her own.  Resourceful, even when hindered by illness.  Gotta hand it to that kid.

She slept pretty well last night.  I did my best to stay quiet this morning so she would sleep, but come to find out, when I exhausted all my FaceBook options and finally made my appearance, she had been awake for almost an hour, waiting for me.  Sorry about that, Chris.  She roamed around the house with me for a while this morning, helping me feed the dogs and fetch the newspaper – my usual morning chores.  And the whole time she was chipper and happy and – now here’s the sick kid part – extremely well-mannered.  When a kid realizes he actually is sick, he can go one of two ways.  Either it’s “I’m going to die.   I can’t move.  You have to wait on me hand and foot.”  Or, especially when there is something special planned or something she really wanst to do that she knows just won’t happen for sick ones, or perhaps a little fear kicks in and it becomes, “Oh, I’m fine, totally fine and I can do anything you can do only better and watch me do this and sure I want to help and let’s play a game and I’ll get that for you and yes, sir and no, ma’am and …”  And then they collapse from the sheer exhaustion of trying to prove they really aren’t quite as sick as you might have thought.

Anyway, she lasted about thirty minutes or so, before her morning adrenaline began to wear out.  Right now she is back on the couch absorbing the latest dose of Tylenol, wrapped up in a blanket or two with her head never more than an inch or two away from her little trash can/makeshift vomit bucket.  Sigh.  What a way for a DadDad – er - I mean a Nani – er - I mean a five-year-old (that’s the one I meant to say all along, of course) to spend a Thanksgiving holiday.

Malachi 4:2-3 says, “But for you who revere my name, the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings. And you will go out and leap like calves released from the stall.”

Father, could you bring some of that healing to our house today?  I love her no matter what, but I sure do prefer the leaping-like-calves version.  Thank you.  Amen.