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The First Year of Pre-School: from Yoptown to Diarrheaville

I was so freaked out taking my son to his first day of pre-school this past fall. The only thing keeping me going was the idea that I only had to look after one child for four hours, three days a week. A small fight over what to wear or what to eat seemed a small price to pay for a little freedom. It took us both a few weeks to adjust. I found it just as scary to leave him at school as it was for him to be left. But after a while, we fell into a routine. He had his sand letters and I had peaceful playgroups and watching Teletubbies with my little girl.

Month 2 of pre-school was when the colds started. They came back to back, varying in intensity and length. A good month was getting a few days in between each illness. After about the 5th one in a row, you start to gravel with the Sick Gods, begging for less snot or less snot on your clothes. Oh PLEASE, just the clear send-them-to-school runny nose, not the green stuff! Or the little praying to avoid the vomit cough. Oh no, no, over here, ON THE TOWEL! You feel quarantined, restricted to your home or the homes of others with the same afflictions. The weekends become hell as you are all stuck in the house together. “Your turn” becomes the new catch-phrase and getting out of the house at all becomes a luxury. A trip to the mailbox is an adventure and going to Home Depot for light bulbs is like a vacation. You and your spouse argue over who gets to go out to buy a new humidifier, pick up juice, or other cold armamentarium.

But a good stomach virus will definitely make you appreciate a cold. The viruses are usually short—a bonus—and that’s good, depending on the travel time between bodies. I don’t much care for the sneak attack of stomach viruses either. No sneezes to tell you to cover the couch in towels, no fever to tell you tonight would probably be a good night to clean up all of the toys in your son’s room. I must say we lost a few good books last go around. “Puppies in the Snow” became “Puppies in Regurgitated Pasta.”

And then there’s the issue of what you do with the yoppers? Where do you put a yopper? We usually layer the couch and surrounding floor area (mattress pad, blanket, towels). A friend of mine uses the dog bed. It is not as bad as it sounds and very convenient. You kick the dog out of the bed and put about 4 or 5 towels on the dog bed. Sick child goes on top and you strip layers back after each episode. Another bonus to this method is that you can transport the kid—by your bed, in living room, kitchen, you name it. The only problem is when they tell teachers or other non-family members that they must be relegated to the dog bed when they are sick. Then it’s time to make up code words.

After 10 loads of laundry, timed sips of ginger ale or Gatorade, and continuous viewings of mewling Caillou or “Word Up” WordGirl you make it to DIARRHEAVILLE. You exchange the wetvac for diaper rash cream. At this point I am still fearful of another yop coming out of their small helpless bodies. Every noise they make I am running for a towel. The couch is still clothed in towels days later. There’s always the other sibling to get sick.

Diarrhea is tricky. You never know when it’s going to be finished. You make the mistake of feeding them dairy or something besides the BRAT diet (bananas, rice, applesauce, toast), and the brown river flows. For us, it’s actually a toxic sort of green. And no shocker here, but so foul you need a back-up diaper changer. Our house is being considered as a SuperFund site. My husband gave me a look one time, and I knew I had to take over. Good thing he had backup or he would have needed a towel.