Viruses Apparently Hate Chicken

When people talk about settling into a new house, they usually mention unpacking boxes, decorating, and figuring out which light switch controls what.

What they do not mention is the inevitable first household virus.

Well, friends, ours has officially arrived.

High fevers. Exhaustion. General chaos.

And, somehow, an intense family-wide craving for donuts.

The problem, according to my six-year-old, is that we cannot eat donuts because “donuts feed bacteria.”

This is apparently established medical fact now.

Later that night, she placed a Vicks tissue squarely on her chest and very seriously informed me that it was there “to tell my brain to tell my white blood cells to speed up and eat the virus.”

Honestly? Not bad logic for a six-year-old.

She then informed me she was hungry and needed chicken because “viruses hate chicken.”

Look, at that point I was in no position to challenge science. The girl got chicken.

The night before had already been one for the books.

At one point she was running through the house half-delirious from fever, yelling about seeing both big things and small things at the same time, while also angrily informing me that her popsicle was disgusting and demanding chocolate instead.

Parenting really keeps you humble.

I ended up sleeping on her floor, which eventually turned into both of us crammed onto the Nugget.

And if you don’t know what a Nugget is, just know it is technically a children’s play couch and absolutely not engineered to support a grown adult and a feverish child for an entire night.

But desperate times.

She finally settled around 3 a.m., which gifted us a glorious few hours of sleep before she popped back up at 6:50 like nothing had happened.

Actually, that wasn’t even the earliest wake-up call this week.

Two days ago, she came sprinting into my room at 5:45 a.m. shouting, “THE SUN IS UP! WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE FOR HORSE SCHOOL!”

For context, “horse school” is our homeschool horse club.

Yes, it’s a real thing.

Yes, it is awesome.

And yes, my alarm was already set.

For 7:15.

But once a child has announced the start of the day with that level of conviction, there is really no going back to sleep.

So up we got.

We grabbed donuts on the way (apparently exceptions can be made when convenient), she spilled everything down her shirt, and we had to make an emergency stop to buy a new one before arriving at horse school fifteen minutes late.

Now, if you know me, you know this nearly sent me into orbit because I firmly believe that if you are not thirty minutes early, you are late.

Thankfully, her instructor is a saint.

So that’s life over here.

Viruses hate chicken. Donuts feed bacteria unless they’re road-trip donuts. Vicks tissues can apparently direct white blood cell traffic.

And sometimes motherhood looks like sleeping folded in half on a child-sized couch while wondering if any of this is remotely normal.

Adventures until next time.