#RockStarDad got the ‘rona. And it sucked.

Sure, sure, it was mild. As is the case when you’ve gotten ALL THE SHOTS!

There was no ICU involved. No need to drink bleach. No moaning and wailing. At least not at first.

We never saw it coming. Except, of course we did. We were the last house on the block to get it. It was technically our turn.

So, here’s what went down when Omicron came knocking at our door.

Saturday.

He worked in the garage. It was the day of the dremel tool. (I don’t know what that is either.) And wood working. And saw dust a-plenty. The children frolicked with the neighbors. I did mom stuff. Like, um, laundry probably.

Sunday.

He complained about a tickle in his throat. We called it “saw dust throat” and went on with our day. Just any ole Sunday, complete with “Pink Panther” reruns. (Doesn’t everyone watch that?)

The rest of us felt fine.

Monday.

Clearly something was off. Dusty lung should’ve dissipated by now, right? And yet work must go on! Off to the office he went. Wearing a mask.

He started to lose his voice. Someone noticed. And suggested the unsuggestable: C-O-V-I-D! Noooooooo! Off to get tested he went.

The rest of us felt fine.

We banished him to the bedroom. Just in case. With his chills and laryngitis and overwhelming exhaustion. I silently thanked the someone who noticed.

I pulled out the trusty blow-up mattress and set up camp in the family room. With the dog. Because canine corona might be a thing. The dog was excited to learn we own an electric blanket. Her version of #silverlining.

Tuesday.

Me and the boys got tested. We continued to feel fine.

He slept a lot. We awaited his results. And kept hoping it might “just be the flu.”

I brought him meals on a tray. The dog whined for his attention. The boys drew “love you, Daddy” notes and slipped them under the door.

Wednesday.

His results arrived at 7am: SARS-COVID-19. POSITIVE. He was officially in isolation TIL SATURDAY.

The rest of us continued to feel fine. We held our breath, awaiting our results.

By mid-day, he started to rally a bit. To watch TV. To eat more food. To clean out his closet.

Thursday.

My youngest told me about his nightmare: that his daddy died from the virus. I gave kisses. And said, “Don’t worry!” Then I went and updated our life insurance policy.

He began checking email and sending me texts to pick up his things from work. He was bored and feeling better. He rearranged the bedroom, complete with workspace, kitchenette, and entertainment center. I brought him beef jerky and oranges and peanut butter and bread and granola bars and seltzer and chocolate to keep him company. I told him if he needed fresh air, he could jump out the window.

The rest of us continued to feel fine. And FINALLY got our results: NEGATIVE. Praise the Lord. HAPPY DANCE!

It was at this point that the week took a turn for the worse.

The children began to go batshit. Tears and clinging and more-than-normal (who am I kidding, this is totally normal) not listening to the adult in the room and crying over spilled milk. And OMG, THEY MISS THEIR DADDY!

The little one asked if it was hard to be a mommy. Oh, yes, I told him. Hard and easy, too.

This week was more the hard.

The little one said all he wanted was “hugs and buttered bread” with his daddy. I told him to HANG ON TIL SATURDAY when all his dreams would come true.

The dog decided canine COVID was worth it and begged at the bedroom door to join the isolation and escape the madhouse.

Friday.

The children are out of control. The mother is out of control. With wailing and gnashing of teeth ad infinitum.

We may not survive dinner.

#Rockstardad is sympathetically dolling out air-hugs to each of us from the safety of the isolation chamber.

My plan is to be gone on Saturday. I will buy mom-jeans and Valentine’s candy corn and read magazines at the book store. Fully masked and vaxxed and free.

Let’s be honest. I’ll probably stay home and do laundry.

In the meantime, I invite you to help me get these children into bed. For the love of all things sane.

What are your tips for surviving the ‘rona quarantine crazy with your kiddos? Share them below or on Facebook at MothersRest.

Photo credit: Pavel Danilyuk from Pexels