Don’t Let Your Kid Name the Cat

This week, COVID finally hit us. We’ve been as cautious as we reasonably could be, but you know, COVID’s like honey badger; it don’t care. We somehow narrowly escaped its thorny grasp for over two years, despite moving, traveling, the kids being in school, Robb going to work, me going to yoga class, etc. We are all fully vaxxed and have been taking weekly PCR tests through the school and even when I’ve been CONVINCED we surely had been exposed, they’ve always come back negative. Not gonna lie, I was feeling a bit cocky. I thought maybe we had super genes or our vegan diet gave us armor.

Apparently our fairy godparent got sick of our shit and quit, though, because now the COVIDS are here. The big kid woke up with a fever, cough, runny nose, and the pukes early this week and when we tested, it came back saying TAG, YOU’RE IT, which I thought was kind of unprofessional of the health department, but fine, whatever. This is not the first time in my life I’ve been a public health menace. I had an intimate relationship with the health department in college, too, when I traveled to Cuba and brought back some really special brand of diarrhea that hadn’t been seen in the U.S. for a few decades.

The kid has gotten better as the week progressed, and is thankfully feeling pretty normal now. Quarantine hasn’t been a ton of fun, obviously, and the rest of us have felt a bit funky, but are so far surviving and testing negative. It’s always rough to have a sick kid, but what’s had me really freaked out is the threat of long-haul COVID. Just last…