Sick Day

That non-drowsy, congested-stuffy head, sore throat, coughing, aching, fever, so-you-can-get-through-your-life and day-to-day grind medicine

Remember that old DayQuil commercial, “Moms Don’t Get Sick Days”? First, top notch marketing by the P&G folks, always making the most mundane household objects somewhat interesting.

Second: Amen. I distinctly remember passing out face-first on the nursery carpet only a few days into dadhood, and I was blasted awake by a milk scream that turned out to become the new alarm of my life. However I was feeling from this point forward would always be secondary behind my kids.

My sick (or off or not feeling it or we had a little too much fun last night) days were officially over.

But in a full-circle, cosmic comedy script, I’m now managing two of my own elementary school students who are navigating the newly-added attendance demands of growing up. Can’t all be unicorns and rainbows forever.

Recently, my oldest daughter woke with a gnarly fever and body aches, prompting the obligatory call to the school office. I never look forward to these conversations, as the interactions always make me feel like I did something wrong. For some reason, I revert to my 12-year-old self trudging to the principal’s office after my name was called over the loudspeaker.

“She’s not, um, feeling very well,” I say, trying to sound more authentic. I’m really not lying, but in the same way you drive by a cop under the speed limit, you still might have screwed up somewhere along the way. I’m sure the school gets 50 of these calls a day, and I’m hardly memorable, but I don’t want my kids to be affected by dad’s dumb mistakes. They already have to live with my love of 2000s emo punk rock.

Of course, I don’t want my kids to miss any school any less than they do. Mostly due to positive reasons—education, socialization, physical fitness—and also less noteworthy and more self-serving ones—sanity, peace, calmness and the ability to vacuum.

So, yeah, I feel guilty calling out of class, but I also know it’s the compassionate and right thing to do. Our post-pandemic world has shown that we need to take care of our bodies and maintain social distance (without those ridiculous 6-foot separated floor stickers).

Now it’s 9:01, and my daughter has already started forming a permanent indentation in the couch. She’s allowed TV, including the privileges of holding the remote, another silver-lining byproduct of staying home, but over the course of the day, her condition and her spirit improve (as these things generally do).

Echos of “Daaaaaad” become more frequent, and I explain how fresh air and silence is good for your soul. She insists on more reruns of Hannah Montana and popsicles because she ‘needs to hydrate.’ I appreciate the sass, suggesting the energy would be better used toward homework or cleaning her room. We go back and forth for a while, until I’m sure she’ll never want to stay home again.

Luckily, kids are tough and they get over things far faster than the lower, creakier limbs of the family tree. She’s bounds up the next morning, intent to skip another "Bring Your Child to Work Day” with dad.

But sure enough, only a few minutes behind her is a stuffy 7-year-old—my middle girl—and a plea to stay home. Perfect. Another one bites the dust. I pick up the phone and find the school’s number in my Contacts. Maybe I can win them over with a little humor to start the day”

“Hi! Good morning! Yes, it is me again!

Hey, do you remember that old DayQuil commercial?”