Last night, just as we were getting ready for bed, Lydia came downstairs carrying a sobbing Brynja. At first I thought she’d had a nightmare or fallen out of bed, but it turned out that she’d woken with a terrible headache and was startlingly feverish. We dosed her up with acetaminophen and made her a bed on the couch, putting a glass of water and the remote control on the coffee table beside her. This morning when we got up she was fast asleep, and still too warm, so we didn’t bother waking her for school.

She is both the best and worst kid to have home sick, and for the same reason. When she’s not well, she just lies listlessly on the couch and feels miserable. She doesn’t constantly ask for things, or give us a running litany of her ever-worsening symptoms, or beg to be held for hours on end. She just suffers in silence and lets us go about our business. It’s agonizing, her stoicism.

She’s been back-and-forth for most of the day today, but has never felt well enough to eat more than popsicles and blueberry soup. I expect she’ll be home tomorrow, and I’m crossing my fingers that she’s the only one. So far everyone seems fine, but it came on pretty suddenly for Brynja, so I daren’t be too optimistic.