Saturday Night Fever. And Sunday. And Monday. And . . .

Okay, so the entire—ENTIRE—month of April was a complete viral disaster in the Hofmann household. But May went along swimmingly, as far as our immune systems went (work was another matter), and June saw just one quick 24-hour virus for the girls.

So, perhaps it was time for some chaos. Last week, Lorelei had a fever. I was on the brink of sending a major textbook to press (48 chapters! 650 pages!) that had a firm deadline due to an upcoming conference at which the book HAD to debut, and I was inundated with the sheer work that accompanies the week before press day. I had been killing myself to get the book to this point, so this was bad.

Predictably, Chris had a presentation to give to the officers. Per usual, his work trumped mine, so I stayed home.

Oh, and our car died.

So, I got the car towed from our driveway, juggled my sick baby with work. Blessedly, Lorelei napped for long stretches as her little body fought the virus.

Lorelei’s fever continued, so she needed to stay home another day. Chris complained he had to interview someone the next day, and I insisted I simply HAD to go into the office. So, we split the day: him going into work in the morning (and leaving later than he agreed) and me (completely) ticked and heading in for my afternoon of work, handing off my sweet Lorelei to him as our paths crossed midway.

This day was the day before Fourth of July. I left work late, having no other choice with what I had to get done, and I literally ran down the sidewalks of Bethesda to the parking garage and barreled toward school to pick up Charlotte. On the eve of a 4-day weekend (for most), and this late, surely she’d be the only kid still there. Wondering where her mommy was.

I vibrated with stress at the next stoplight, loathing the people around me with the packed-up cars, happily on their way to Somewhere Other Than Here. I had a sick kid at home, a kid waiting for me at school, a book I wasn’t sure would make its deadline, and Another Shitty Day in the record books. It was all very self-pitying.

I finally got to school, and of course Charlotte was happily coloring with her friends, not curled up in the fetal position, her tear-streaked face gazing at the clock in confusion.

I have a knack for overreaction, in case you didn’t know.

We got home, and Chris had redeemed himself by having Lorelei already fed and ready to go down.

By Saturday morning, Charlotte woke up with a fever. She got sicker and sicker, refusing ibuprofen to reduce it. When it hit 105 degrees, Chris said, “She has to have medicine NOW,” and I agreed. I held her down while he force-fed her the ibuprofen. Meanwhile, she coughed and screamed and cried. I joined her in the crying. Awful.

Due to the apparent nastiness of this virus and how weak it made Charlotte, we agreed to take shifts sleeping with her in her bed (it’s a double—I’ll never get my kids twin beds for this very reason). It was a rough night for all three of us. Charlotte had to have a late-night dose (force-fed again) of ibuprofen, and every once in a while, she’d waken, wide-eyed, disoriented, and whimpering, and whichever parent was on duty would reassure her, offer her some water, and gently stroke her face to lull her back to what seemed to be very un-restful sleep. Poor girl. This bug hit her harder than Lorelei, I think.

By Monday, Charlotte was back to normal. Tuesday, I had a marathon of a day ahead of me with the final push to get this book to press. By 9:00 a.m., I was freezing. FREEZING. What was wrong with my office AC? I wondered. But everyone else was fine. Then my head hurt. Then the rest of my body.

Crraaaaaaap.

I popped ibuprofen, which got me through the day. At home, I managed to survive the evening routine then collapsed on the couch. And deteriorated. It was ugly—or sweet, depending on how you look at it—but Chris had to carry me upstairs. I literally couldn’t lift my head.

“What IS this virus?” I moaned. “How can just a fever be so . . . AWFUL? Even the joints of my toes hurt!”

The next morning was press day. Of course. I couldn’t lift my head from my pillow yet, at least not without VERY good reason, so I managed what I could from my iPhone, which allowed me to pathetically lay there. Cursedly, this was also the day of Charlotte’s blueberry-picking field trip, which Chris planned to chaperone, but he now had to take Lorelei to daycare (I sure couldn’t). I was left with Charlotte, who was quite neglected, fell out of our bed and banged her ear on the frame and had a tantrum over something I couldn’t identify, and really, I didn’t care. My goal was to have a sense of where she was in the house and keep her alive until Chris returned an hour later.

Once they left for the farm, my latest dose of ibuprofen allowed me to sit up in bed long enough to handle the remaining minor details with the book and SEND IT TO PRESS. This was a massive relief.

That afternoon, Charlotte, post- field trip and post-nap, drove me batty while Chris tried to work and I tried to sleep. Poor kid. Oh, WHY was today blueberry-picking day?! I longed for a quiet, empty house.

Against all good sense, I went to pick up Lorelei that evening. Chris needed time to work, and I felt SO guilty about how useless I had been all day, so I fibbed a little and said I was feeling better enough to get her. Driving wasn’t too bad, so long as I kept the AC blowing on my face to combat nausea. Getting Lorelei was tricky, though. Bending down to pick her up made my head feel like it was being whacked against concrete, and the child herself felt like she weighed 90 pounds. I actually worried if I could carry her all the way to the car.

I think Chris sensed I had exaggerated my physical ability, because he met me in the garage as I pulled in and took Lorelei out of the car. Mercifully, he handled the girls’ dinners and baths, and I tried to contribute SOMETHING by reading Charlotte her nighttime stories, though we had to do it in Mommy’s bed.

Poor Chris had to make up time, so he worked at the kitchen island until late while I watched TV. I’m not the only one stretched really, really thin, I reminded myself. Besides, I was the schmuck laying on the couch. Not him.

Thursday morning, I felt much more human. With everyone dressed and ready to go to school and work, Charlotte started crying and saying, “Owie, owie, owie! My ear!” She cupped her ear pathetically. After a few more rounds of this, I told her she’d have to stay home with me (after sending that book to press from what felt like my death bed, I wasn’t too concerned about work), and we’d visit the doctor.

“No!” she cried. “I want to go to school! I want to go to my class! I want to see my teachers and my friends!”

Ugh, I felt terrible.

“We’ll get ice cream later, okay?” I said, deciding to parent by guilt. “I know you want to go to school, and I wish you could, but we have to get your ear checked out.”

Not even ice cream interested her. She wanted to go to school SO badly.

Meanwhile, Chris had loaded up Lorelei and was starting to back out of the garage. Charlotte ran to the door, opened it, and hysterical and in tears, screamed, “Daddy, don’t leave without me! Don’t leave without me! Daddy!”

Heartbreaking. I almost hoped she had an ear infection, just so our decision to keep her home would be justified.

I got her a morning pediatrician appointment and . . . swimmer’s ear. At the drugstore to pick up the prescription ear drop for possible infection, I told Charlotte she could pick out any flavor of children’s ibuprofen she wanted (we have 5 flavors at home, plus chewables, none of which she’ll take, and the pediatrician wanted her to take some for the pain). Like any normal kid, she selected blue raspberry, in a charming neon blue hue, and you know what? She drank it right up. I was so elated, I didn’t even care that she picked the overpriced name-brand stuff.

God bless blue raspberry Children’s Advil.

I held true to my promise for ice cream, and because she wasn’t actually SICK, we had some nice Charlotte–Mommy time. “Sometimes it’s nice to have it just be Charlotte and Mommy,” I told Charlotte.

She grinned. “Sometimes it is!”

Phew. So, that has been our past 2 weeks. STRESSFUL and, of course, Chris may still get this virus. I’m glad 3 out of 4 of us are done with this nasty bug, I’m on-my-knees grateful that this bug was NOT A STOMACH bug, I’m incredibly relieved my enormous book went to press and I can catch my breath for a second before jumping into the next three books I have to get off press before late September, and I’m glad that if Chris DOES get sick, we didn’t get sick simultaneously.

Back to normal, at least for now.