Momnesia

I Blame Purell

Augusta, Ga - I am enjoying a raging cold. Fever, coughing, stuffy nose... Oh, you know the whole dang NyQuil commercial.

But I think Emmie's school might have taken the swine flu scare a little too seriously...

"Mama, you sick?" Emmie asks, then places her hand on my forehead. An expression of great concern furrows her brow. "Ohhh, you got a feeber."

"Yeah," I choke out, and then cough up a kidney. "Mama's not feeling too good."

I start to lean in for a mooch - they always make me feel better - when she shrieks in terror, splitting my head in two.

"What on earth is the matter?!"

"You goeend gib me yer GERMS!"

She's right. And I don't want her to get sick. But I can't resist messing with her.

"Bluuuuugh," I moan, eyes crazy and arms out. "I am the germ monsterrrrrr."

She shrieks and literally runs across the house to get away from me.

"Okay, I was just joking," I said.

She comes out of her hiding place, and I notice that her shirt is dirty.

"Honey, it's time to put those clothes in the laundry," I say. "Let me untie the bow."

"NO!" she edges away from me. "You GOEEND get yer GERMS on me!"

"Dude! I won't touch you, I promise! Just the shirt."

We get her out of her clothes, and then she edges around me, cautiously, holding her clothes out in front her like a shield.

"You know, it's not like I'm going to set you on fire," I sigh. I really did want that mooch.

Emmie shakes her curls and then whispers diabolically: "You nebber know, Mama. You nebber know."