I Think I Have the Black Lung, Pop

So, my children have colds. Dylan has a cold, too. For the first time ever, I do not have a cold. Let me repeat: My entire family is sick and I am totally fine! This has never happened, ever. My immune system is generally out to lunch more often than a secretary 6 months from her retirement. This time, though, somehow, I am magically completely healthy (okay that's not actually true. My fibromyalgia is worse than it's been in 7 years...but at least I'm not hacking up a lung in addition to that ridiculousness).

This cold and not-cold have offered a fascinating opportunity for me to observe the differences in the ways different folks handle being mildly ill without a sea of mucus clouding my brain. Dylan handles having a cold pretty much as I imagine Mary Poppins might. He complains a little bit in the morning, takes a spoonful of honey and a cup of tea and goes about his day. He coughs and blows his nose like a reasonable human being without a lot of ceremony, and he goes to bed a little earlier. No complaints there.

My children, on the other hand, are a study in contrasts but are both terrible at being sick. To illustrate this for you, I present this scene from our morning (Rylan's dialogue is, of course, the crystallization of the general ideas he presents through actions and somewhat rude gestures):

Pippa, upon awakening: Daddy. Me cough. Me up ALL NIGHT. (Coughs dramatically)

Rylan, upon awakening with a thick crust of green nastiness completely plugging up his nose: So, what are we going to do today, guys? I am raring to go! What this? Oh no, it's definitely NOT boogers. Nope. You don't need to wipe my nose. It's all good here.

Pippa, upon being presented with breakfast: Nooooooo. Me no want banana! Me no want bread! Me. NOSE. RUN.

Rylan, upon being presented with breakfast: Oh cool, I totally love bananas and there's no reason at all that eating them would be at all difficult for me. I mean, it's not like my nose and throat are completely obstructed with a thick coating of mucus I refuse to expel. Gaaaaaaaaag. What's that? No, I'm totally not going to puke. Gaaaaaaag. Feeling great, gimme more banana!

Pippa, standing 3 inches from my face: What wrong, Pippa? What wrong, Pippa? What wrong, Pippa?

Me, somehow guessing I might be expected to ask something...: What's wrong, Pippa?

Pippa, clutching at her chest: Mommy. Me. NOSE. RUN.

Me: Okay, well let me help you wipe it, then.

Pippa, running across the room and flinging herself on top of a packing box: Nooooooooooooooooooooo!

Me: Pippa, why won't you come here and let me wipe your nose?

Pippa: Me. NOSE. RUN. Me NOSE RUN! Me NOSE RUN!!!

Me: Um, yeah...I gathered that. Come get your nose wiped.

Pippa: Noooooo! Can't come. ME NOSE RUN!!!

Rylan: I'm not saying I have pneumonia. I just. There's a little something in my chest (coughs like a consumptive zombie). It's probably just allergies. No. No. I don't need a breathing treatment. No. Look over there! A squirrel!

Me: Pippa, come here right now or you get time-out.

Pippa, running to her time out corner and slamming herself against the wall: Me NOSE RUN! Me cough (coughs like Derek Zoolander after spending the day mining for coal)! Me (pauses for dramatic effect) SICK.

Rylan: I'm just going to lay on the floor for a little bit. Nothing to see here, folks.

Pippa, after coughing: Poor princess. Poor Pippa. Pippa sick.

Rylan: I could totally get up if I wanted to. It's just that this floor is really comfortable. I feel...great...

See what I mean? Worst sick people ever.

I am clearly dying of smallpox of the tuberculosis and no one cares!!!

Look at my face. Have you ever seen a face this sick?

Ah me. Minutes to live. My young life has been a waste.