Today my six-year-old called me from school. I almost didn’t answer the call, as I assumed it was one of those pre-recorded messages about the book fair, parent booster clubs, etc. Nope. This was a very nice woman informing me that my son was in the office complaining that he felt like he was going to throw up. He had no temperature, but he wanted to speak with me. Okey-dokey. Spoke with the kiddo and he sounded fairly legitimate, so I told the nice lady that I would be there shortly to retrieve my “sick” son.
Note the quotation marks.
As I’m driving, I began to think through the ramifications if this illness was, in fact, a complete fraud. I conversed with my husband, and decided that if you’re sick enough to leave school, you are therefore too sick to do anything else.
Scene: school entry.
My little man comes running to the door with a big grin on his face “Hi mom!” ready to leave for home, freedom, and all the bubbly sparkly wonderful things kids dream of.
Hold the phone. Here’s how we roll. If you are so sick that you need me to take you home, that means that you’re too sick to go to church tonight.
Yes, no church. Still feeling too sick to stay?
After a short conversation in the school entry, he held to his story of sick, and we headed home. To further pain and suffering.
No television for an hour.
No hanging with brother.
Just books, a bed, and one solid hour (coincidentally, the quantity of school time left) of mandated rest.
Now, of course, he’s fine. Just fine. But I’ll be darned if he’s going to enjoy this free “sick” day. Mom doesn’t roll that way.