Yeah, I've been up since about three thirty, because I knew something was not right. (Like Miss Clavel, from the Madeline books.) I knew Fiona was too warm, and I knew she wasn't breathing softly and smoothly, like she should be if she was going to get up and go to school in the morning. So I kept turning it all over in my head. How would I cover my shift? What would the repercussions be? What if I did send her to school, and then she felt worse, or got sicker? I had to stay home-- because I should stay home, that was the only thing to do-- but then I would certainly be out of pocket for the pay. But what was more important, Fiona, or a day's pay? Back and forth, back and forth. Mental pacing. Over and over. You'd think I would have at least put myself back to sleep with it. I can see your lids drooping over there right now...
As it turned out, I went to work today, but only because Mike stayed home with Fiona, who was, of course, still running a fever early this morning. There I was, fretting, when Mike's alarm went off and he got up at 4:40 to get ready for work. "I'm going to need to stay home with her," I said, as he got up to take a shower.
He nodded, I think. It was still dark. I listened to the shower run, trying to figure out how early was too early to call my boss and let her know I wouldn't be there. And what about calling a co-worker to cover the shift? It's always too early to get that call, especially when you have the day off...
Then Mike came over and solved the problem. "I have a sick day. I'll stay home and you go to work. Go back to sleep for a little while." Best. Husband and Daddy. Ever. I know, right? It was like magic. It's not that he hasn't stayed home with sick kids before, but he has the full-time job with the grown-up wage, so if we have to choose, he is the one who goes to work and I was sure that, this late in the year, there was no way he had sick time left. He didn't think so either at first, apparently, but he was smart enough to check, given that the time is accrued paycheck to paycheck, and last Friday was payday. Though you'd never know it now, here on Monday (but that's another all-night fretting session right there.)
So, even though I didn't get to go back to sleep (see, not really a fairy tale), because all the hushed chit-chat woke Fiona (who immediately said she was better, and was pissed because we said she was staying home) I did go to work and didn't have to deal with any sick-kid fallout. It was a good thing too, since the post office inside the bike shop was busier than sh*t, because suddenly everyone decided that, with Thanksgiving falling this week and all, it was time to mail multiple packages. This did make the day move right along, proving that time flies, even when you don't get a lunch and are not, technically, having any fun. Fiona texted a couple of times, and was feeling pretty well by the time I got home. After 24 hours with no fever, she may get her wish to go to school tomorrow.
There was a small, fairy tale-ish, element that reminded us what we're doing this for, even though Mike and I were both totally wiped out by 8 o'clock. It turned out that the girls had missed each other during the day. Yeah, the same girls who will fight to the death over a purple barrette each claimed to have been kind of upset when only one of them went to school. Fiona asked when Delia was coming home about a thousand times, starting, Mike said, about an hour after she'd left for school. And, as I was cooking dinner, Delia confided that her day was great, except, "Going to school without Fiona doesn't feel right. It's just, you know, awkward!"
Picture of Miss Clavel, from here.