Illness fakery verification
It's always a crap shoot when you come home from your 7am pilates class and your kid is laying on the couch in his chonies, wearing an Xbox headset, telling you that he's sick. Do you believe him? Or do you tell him to put some freaking clothes on like a normal person so he can get edumicated?
Over the last year, my child has gotten crafty, so one can't rule out emotional manipulation to increase time spent playing Call of Duty and/or Fortnite. For any claims to sickness that don't involve outward symptoms (hives, rash, temperature causing excessive sweating and/or shivering, and/or actual metamorphoses into something inhuman), I've taken to keeping a mental checklist in my head. This I will share with you on this sunny and quiet Friday.
- Is he awake before you? This kid is always up before 7, whereas I detest early starts. Consider it a mark against him if he's up, dressed, and yelling at his friends over Xbox Live. This morning he was still asleep when I left for Pilates at 6:40, indicating he might actually be unwell.
- Is he clothed? On any weekend day it's a coin flip on whether Aidan is dressed before 8am. However, it's a rare school day when he comes downstairs in chonies. This morning he was on the couch in chonies when I rolled in from class. Highly unusual.
- How does he react when you demand he put on clothes like a normal person?
- Does he try to justify an Xbox headset as "clothes?" If so, point up the stairs and initiate "Operation: Ship his ass off to school."
- Does he storm off and declare you've ruined his life? If so, you've already won. He's definitely going to school.
- Does he whine pitifully? If so, that's a coin flip. My kid is getting better at this, so I need to factor in whether he is playing me. To test him further, I usually insist he go put on clothes and threaten his beyblade collection. If he still whines, threaten to ship him off to school naked. Make sure to reference the girls in his class. I've found that once or twice this will break him, just as he thought he had me.
- Does he stare off into space? Today he kind of did a mix of the whining and staring into space. He didn't even flinch at mention of being mostly naked in front of his class. Damn it!
- Does he react negatively to being told the Xbox will be off limits and that he'll be spending time in bed?
Obligatory Calvin & Hobbes comic
At this point, no matter where I am in the assessment, I always insist that he put on pants. This gives me an opportunity to sneak up on him and see whether he's doing the "YEAH, she bought it" arm pump.
This is me. I transport fake grass upstairs to keep it real.
At mid-day, I usually reassess whether the child is sick.
Pro-tip: Lunch time is a perfectly acceptable point at which to drop off a faker. My kid just asked me to make him an avocado and lettuce sandwich because "it's good for his digestion." For beverage, he ordered hot chamomile and honey tea because "honey is soothing for sour stomachs." He has not raided the bunnies or any other junk food, and there is an extremely rare confirmed Funyuns sighting in my pantry.
He's scary, my child. I wonder if he hasn't just leveled up his acting game, or if he's just a prime example of white middle-class-ness. There was himalayan sea salt on his sandwich. Right now I've decided he's a victim of his own upbringing and that no amount of two-way bilingual immersion schooling is going to counteract the amount of chi-chi I've already introduced by leaving this salt on our new kitchen island.
#wokefail
I'm at mid-day, so I did the temp check. (Both literally and figuratively.) At this point, I'm not actually sure if my kid is headed to Juliard's acting program or he has a mildly sour tummy. But since I'm not going to pay for Juliard, I'm gonna go with sour tummy. There has been no whining about the Xbox, only one beyblade purchased on Amazon, and he slept for a solid 90 minutes in his actual bed. He's wearing pants, but no shirt. (Small victory for me there!) I don't think he's getting worse, which is a relief, because I have important speak-easy-ing to do tomorrow night in the city. I need to wear my sequined dress and gamble with fake money whilst drinking craft cocktails, probably involving gin. This essential cavorting is exactly what balances my humors and keeps me from becoming Sharon, the mom who secretly hates her kid and her life and everything else, so I refuse to feel guilty about it. Instead, I'll feel grateful that it's Friday, that I didn't have to move a thousand meetings to work from home, and breathe a sigh of relief that I've come out strong against sending Aidan to Juliard. Oh, and that tomorrow's Sharon-defense plans haven't been trashed... yet.
