My fourteen year old is sick. She’s the sickest anyone has ever been. Ever.
I was at a conference today and my phone did not have service. In the end, that was probably a good thing. I was able to miss out on the illness updates she sent to my husband and me every 5 minutes. (Here’s a quick recap: I have a fever! I have chills! Help me! I’m so sick! I have a fever! I have chills! Help me! I’m so sick! Ad infinitum.)
After the conference, I called her from the parking lot. “Is there anything I can pick up for you on the way home?” I asked her.
She gave me a simple list: every single item in the cold and flu aisle at Walgreens. I hung up and headed toward the store. Three minutes later I glanced at my phone and saw that I had missed four phone calls from my daughter. I called her back.
“And a milkshake,” she said. “I need a milkshake. A strawberry one. From Culvers.” She seemed convinced that it would be the cure for her horrible, terrible, worst thing since the plague illness.
As I pulled into the Culvers drive-thru, she texted me a picture of a thermometer. “I just can’t get my fever to go down!” The text said. The thermometer read 100 degrees.
I pulled up to the speaker and ordered the promised strawberry milkshake. And then I ordered a chocolate one. For me. I was going to need it.