Bitch, we’re coming for you.

Mark has largely recovered from his recent mysterious illness, but, in an incredible twist of misfortune, my husband is now ill. Let us all take a moment of silence on receiving that information. Not only that, but Jake – who was fine when I dropped him at school this morning – was runny nosed and headachy and exceedingly irritable when I picked him up a mere 150 minutes later. I can almost see the mystery illness pointing its slimy, germy fingers at me. “Bitch, we’re coming for you.” I am tired although I’m trying to convince myself that I’m tired simply because of all the sick people in my house keeping me awake at night.

Speaking of visualizing the mystery illness, I had a very disturbing conversation with friends who told me that a) seatbelts on airplanes have very high levels of fecal matter on their buckles, and b) headrests on airplane seats squeam them out because of the possibility of lice transfers. The next time I fly I am going to have to explain away the plastic bubble that I will have encased myself in. That, and the disinfectant that I will be using to clean all touchable surfaces.

Also? That commercial for automatic liquid soap dispensers that shows all the viruses and germs on the pump of a regular liquid soap dispenser should be outlawed. That is information I did not need, nor did I need to see it so clearly.

In other, non-freakishly-germ-phobic news, I volunteered in Mark’s class today, which I love. “Mark’s mom is here!” one of his classmates exclaimed upon seeing me. I almost corrected him with my actual name, which is MarkandJake’s mom. But I do love going to the kindergarten; the kids are so cute and enthusiastic, and I know the day will come when Mark will not happily tolerate my blowing him kisses and waving to him while he rotates through various class centres. I was helping to make bird houses out of milk containers, and in a fascinating turn of safety violation events, I sliced first one finger, then another, on the scissors while cutting out perching holes. Kids, be careful with the scissors, she says whilst holding her dripping finger and darting for the medical supplies.

So my sore fingers and my overwhelming tiredness are not being helped by the current weather conditions: a festive spring snowstorm. It is, as I write this, snowing sideways. Well, we need the moisture, as my cheery elderly neighbour says. The upside to this is that perhaps, just perhaps, soccer will be cancelled tomorrow night. Which will be fortunate if I succumb to mystery illness. Which I’m not going to. But just in case.