This weekend made it official. We have entered the season of snot.
We have not yet hit the heart of the season, which is when all four humans in the house are on medication for some kind of acute illness.
By the time you read this, however, the situation on the ground may have changed.
It started, as it so frequently does, with a cold. The Diva caught if first, then promptly gave it to her brother. Toys they won't share; germs they will.
In him, it lingered, filling his head with vile and disgusting bacteria that made him into a crabby, cranky toddler who needed to have his nose wiped every few seconds, which made him even crabbier.
When the stuff oozing out of his head became a color rarely found in nature, we hauled him to the pediatrician, who promptly started him on antibiotics prescription No. 1.
The Diva emerged unscathed, which is a surprise since she spent most of her toddler winters on an endless cycle of meds whose colors and tastes left much to be desired. In her opinion, at least.
Various helpful people suggested ways to make her take her medicine. Everything from mixing it with chocolate pudding to dipping her thumb in it so that she'd suck it off was suggested. None worked.
Eventually, the Hub and I hit on a solution. On its surface, it will seem cruel, but those who've had kids who won't take medicines will understand.
Two adults had to be involved. One would man (or woman, depending) the syringe full of liquid antibiotic while the other would straddle the girl and pin down her arms and legs. The person with the dropper would pinch her cheeks into a fish face and administer the medicine, drop by silly drop, lest she choke. Big fun.
We were always waiting for a concerned neighbor to call the cops on us, given all of the screaming and crying (and wrestling and swearing) everything from ibuprofen to amoxicillin required. I always felt compelled to close the blinds, if only to spare concerned passersby the sight of us sitting on our firstborn.
Thankfully, she seems to have grown out of the constant illnesses and everyone is spared the trauma of medicating her.
As in so many things, the Dude is the exact opposite. All we have to do to get him to take his medicine is show it to him.
Which is good, because just as the Dude was finishing up his most recent round of antibiotics, the Diva spent a night tossing and turning. Restlessness, of course, requires waking us up, too. She kept complaining that her cheek hurt; we kept hustling her back to bed in the hopes that she'd just sleep off whatever was bugging her.
She did appear better in the morning. She seemed her usual healthy self, except she'd occasionally complain about her cheek or ear, then go back to chasing her brother.
We took her to the pediatrician anyway, who described her ear as red and angry and infected. Additionally, that said ear might pop and leak all kinds of disgusting stuff onto the Diva's pillow during the night.
Rather than be upset by the prospect of her head exploding, the Diva was more upset the next morning when it hadn't happened. She wanted to see what it would look like.
She's only marginally better about taking her meds than she was when she was a 3-year-old. We don't have to hold her down anymore _ not that I think we could at this point _ but there is still a certain amount of bribery and cajoling involved.
While his sister waited for her ear to pop, the Dude got better. Then, of course, he caught another cold, which led to another sinus infection, which led to more crabbiness and drugs. I just keep reminding myself that immune systems work best when they are tested every now and again.
The biggest problem, however, is that the boy isn't careful with his germs. He's not the best at washing his hands after he touches his nose. He has no problem with sneezing directly in your face. We're working on teaching him some manners _ but there is only so much one can expect from a 21/2-year-old, whose understanding of infectious diseases is nebulous at best.
The end result is that the germs tend to travel up the chain, moving seamlessly from the knee-biters to the grown-ups. It's a wonder that the nasty bugs hadn't started their migration before now. Usually we've had a few rounds of household-wide drugs by the time Valentine's Day rolls around.
There's still hope for the snot season of 2008. When I woke up this morning and it felt like someone had stuck a cactus up my nose, I realized that we were back on track. The Hub _ our last best hope for good health _ remains standing. Wish us luck.
I would knock wood if I could only reach my desk from under this gigantic mound of tissues. So far, nothing in my head has exploded, but it might only be a matter of time.
Adrienne Martini is freelance writer, instructor at the State University College at Oneonta and Hartwick College, mom to Maddy and Cory and wife to Scott and author of "Hillbilly Gothic," published by the Free Press.
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