The attendance record that I'm required to keep is set up so that only comas and detectable alien abduction are recorded as absences. Which is good for days like today, where all of the children are running triple-digit fevers and no one is much interested in eating, let alone any sort of formal instruction. I'm not sure they would even regard ice-cream with much favor.
It isn't much fun, dealing with a house full of sick Banshees. They aren't bad patients -- they don't even complain as much as I do when I get a garden-variety cold. It's just difficult to see such bundles of energy temporarily sidelined. The house will get cleaned today and stay clean. The hole in the yard that may eventually reach Australia will get not one inch deeper. No one is arguing over who touched who and what may eventually happen to make who STOP touching who. They're just listlessly watching The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe yet again and waiting to feel better.
From a purely selfish point of view, these are days when I'm so glad they're home with me on a full time basis. I no longer have to contact schools and explain that no, my children are not coming in with 101+ degree temperatures. I don't have to listen to some well-meaning teachers chirp about how they can send the missed schoolwork home for the children to work on so no one will fall behind. These people aren't sadists but they do have clockwork to mind; if a 6-year-old can't color his worksheets on time there will be very large irritating grains of sand in their oyster of a world.
I don't have to rearrange my plans to accomodate the sudden advent of children, either. I just have to tweak them to deal with unenergetic children; no field trips today and we'll go light on the history of chicken soup. (Although it can be fairly said that chicken soup in my family has a bit of history; I'm a child of the suburbs that has actually plucked the chicken that went into the stock pot.) We've had a bit of discussion on Celsius and Fahrenheit and the merits of home-made bread and that's been about it. EB is concentrating on knitting a bear for a friend whose birthday party she's probably going to miss. They're all a bit wary that I'm actually going to try to feed them the hummus I've been experimenting with. And Narnia plays in the background (Mom, how do they get the wolf to speak like that? Diction lessons, honey.)
What's a Diction?
A horrendous pun your mother should be ashamed of.