Marleigh’s staying home from school today with a fever of 101 degrees. She’s sore and achy. But she’s reading a great book (I’ll be stopping at Battenkill Books to replenish her reading supply) so that helps. Times like this I miss having my studio in the house. I could work and be home with my kids at the same time. I don’t like leaving her, but at 14 she’s content to be on her own. Fortified with juice to keep her hydrated, but mostly because she loves it, and crackers, though she has no appetite. They’re more for my comfort. I feel like I’ve done a little something for her. Offered nourishment. This is not a time for massage. Massage and fever simply don’t work together. So we hit up the medicine cabinet. We’re one of those rare families who has zero prescription medications in the cabinet. Tooth brushes, Tiger Balm, nail clippers, Neti pot for colds, Benadryl for wasp stings, and Advil and Tylenol for emergencies. This was one of those times. I poured two Tylenol into my hand. “They look weird,” I said. “Like little bombs,” she said. Totally. They look just like little bombs. I’m a believer in the necessity and importance of the good of a fever periodically to burn out whatever’s ailing us. Fever is one of the body’s way of healing. But there are times that I like to help it along, especially if someone I love dearly is hurting. So she swallowed the little bombs. She’s still feverish, but the aches subside a bit. A simple salve, as much to ease my mind as her body so I can leave her and head to work.