Achoo, Y’all

No Telling


Well, that didn’t take long. Let’s see…The Perfect Grandson began preschool last Thursday. Here it is the following Tuesday and every last person in this house is sniffling, coughing, sick. I’m not concerned that this is the swine/H1N1 flu business that seems to be everywhere but here, it’s just a cold or a collective allergy or something irritating that has all of us in the No Telling household grabbing tissues and drinking orange juice.

The Perfect Grandson prefers to wipe boogies all over his face in a lightning-fast one-two motion with the back of his little fist. Em says she’ll be glad when he gets older and isn’t so haphazard with his hygiene and learns to use a tissue.

I’m not telling her. You tell her.

The news is fraught with dire predictions about this flu. As someone who works in a sea of devil-may-care college students, this is the kind of train I’d like to see coming down the track before it hits me. College kids stay out too late, eat crappy food, and live too close to each other. Anything that comes on campus sweeps across it like the Black Plague. Just so you know, I’m unapologetic about wearing gloves during Pink-Eye Season and think nothing of running off students before they have a chance to touch a doorknob. Shoo! I say. And take your pink-eye with you to the health center.

My sister is an elementary school teacher in Birmingham, Alabama, and she told me tonight that just about everyone has that H1N1 business right now. She says they’re not closing down the schools because it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. I’ll bet they change their minds when they try finding substitute teachers in another week or so. Good luck with that, Birmingham.

As I am a Woman of a Certain Age it’s likely I was exposed to that last bout back in the 70s, which may very well provide some bullet-proofing. We’ll see. In the meantime I’m headed to Walgreens for a gallon jug of hand sanitizer and some Lysol spray, because these college kids love to kick you when you’re down.

I can’t do much about The Perfect Grandson’s germs, though. Especially since he wears them everywhere and all over. When the little guy feels poorly he wants extra hugs and kisses – and he’ll get them, too. He already has, that’s why we’re in this condition.

No kissing on the face, though. At least not until he’s old enough to use his shirttail instead.